


The Feathermage

by Green_Sphynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Mpreg, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Play, Polyamory, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Spanking, Threesome, Voyeurism, where do I even start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 47
Words: 43,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: Collection of all my Tumblr drabbles involving a ship with Anders.





	1. Fenders Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: Rimming  
> Warnings: None

“Trust me, you’ll like this.”

“Mage, _please_. Don’t be disgusting, it’s dirty and unhygienic.”

“Fenriiiis!”

The elf rolled his eyes. As if the whining would convince him. As if the honeyed brown eyes begging him would convince him. Or the batting of eyelashes and the puppy eyes and the-

“Fine. Don’t complain later.”

“Perfect!” Anders seemed a little too pleased to get his way, and Fenris almost changed his mind again. But if he would back out now Anders wouldn’t let him live it down, and he was not about to give the mage that much ammunition against him.

Before he even knew what was happening, Fenris found himself flipped on hands and knees, slender mage hands tugging on his hips to lift his ass high in the air. He grunted noncommittally but moved as instructed, making himself comfortable for now. The mage would change his mind soon enough, he had no doubt.

He barely had himself braced when he felt the warm palms smoothing over his backside, heating skin with arousal in their wake. His cheeks were pulled apart slightly, but only to allow Anders to massage them softly in his cupped hands, teasing with an almost reverent air about him.

Fenris let him. Give him the chance to stop before they started. Why would the mage want to do something so dirty in the first place-

The sound of him sucking in a sharp breath of surprise was answered with a pleased murmur. Fenris strained, hips tilting and ass spreading as far as he could without his hands. Long fingers were digging into soft skin to spread him further, hot lips mouthing through his cleft like it was any other part of his body.

_This really shouldn’t feel this good._

The first slick finger had slipped into him before he even noticed, and he keened an embarrassing noise in pleasure. The pad of Anders’ finger rubbed teasingly against his prostate, not even needing to search for its location no matter Fenris _rarely_ bottomed to him. Bastard of a healer with _his tongue in Fenris’ ass_.

Fenris moaned and hiccupped out something like a whine, overwhelmed by the pleasure he had not been expecting. Anders was most expertly stimulating his prostate while his hot lips and tongue worked over the puckered hole, licking and lightly nipping with his lips only, penetrating with his tongue and nuzzling in intervals.

“M-mage-!”

A pleased, victorious purr went straight into his cock, embarrassingly already leaking between his thighs as he felt the hot tongue press in repeatedly. The finger was removed and Fenris whined desperately, rocking back against Anders’ mouth. Missing the stimulation of his prostate, Anders managed to make it up to Fenris more than efficiently with his tongue. He latched on to Fenris’ hole completely, tonguing eagerly while sucking lightly, making the elf go dizzy with desire at the suction and penetration.

“Anders!”

Fenris only realised his vision had turned black when it slowly returned to him, the pleasure to his backside stopped in favour of gentle petting on the round slope of his bum.

“Are you okay love?” Anders’ voice shouldn’t be so full of amusement, and Fenris _should_ snap at him for it, but all he could do was give a needy whimper. Luckily Anders took that just the way he meant it, the slick finger sliding in again to start rubbing against his prostate once more.

“I bet I can make you cum all over the bed just like this.”

Fenris just whimpered in response again, rocking back on that sinful finger that made all his extremities tingle.

“I bet you’ve been wanting this. Every time you fuck me, you imagine what it would feel like to reach your peak untouched, am I right? You can bring me to climax so expertly, you _must_ be as hungry for this as I am.”

He whined and whimpered in confirmation, rocking back and moaning hungrily when that hot tongue found the puckered skin once again.

“You want to cum so badly,” vibrated Anders’ voice into him. “I won’t touch you luv, nor will you. You’ll cum from my tongue and a single finger, nothing more.”

“A-Anders- fuck-”

“Feeenriiis~”

His vision blacked as he came with a shout, cock heavy and jerking unsupported as it launched thick spurts of his seed over the bed. It felt like it went on forever – but eventually he fluttered back to consciousness to two lean arms wrapped around his waist, his body sprawled back in Anders lap.

He could _hear_ the smug grin. “Told you so.”


	2. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Handers  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: Blood, angst

“He died.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m the _healer_.”

“Anders...” The healer found himself wrapped up in his lover’s arms before he noticed him approaching, a light rub between his shoulder blades meant to soothe him. Yet everything remained black before his eyes as he struggled with his guilt, the warmth of the embrace barely calming him.

“He trusted me to heal him.”

“He was already a lost case and you know it.”

“I promised.”

He felt the sigh more than heard it, and lips pressing to the side of his head in a kiss. Exasperated. Loving? _Must be hateful._

Hawke had no argument against this particular argument. Anders knew he wouldn’t, and wasn’t sure if he felt proud for winning or more terrible. Mostly more terrible.

He shouldn’t have promised the boy he’d heal him, not when he was already in such a state. But those large scared eyes begging him for help... He couldn’t. He couldn’t just leave the boy with his fear, he _had_ to tell him to have faith, that he’d try. And he tried, oh he tried.

He drained himself trying to heal that boy, only to have him perish beneath his hands, crying in agony.

_Crying. Screaming. All the pain._

“Please Anders.”

His breath caught in his throat, and suddenly he realised he was _crying_. Anders buried his face in his lover’s shoulder, clinging to him desperately like the boy had clung to him earlier. The blood of _his victim_ still clung to his robes, but it had dried and was flaking rather than smearing on his lover’s good indoor robes. His hands were washed clean, but he could still feel the blood. He could feel the warmth of life slipping between his fingers and the heaving chest of a crying child in pain.

“How about we go to bed, hm? You might feel better in the morning.”

“ _He’ll still be dead_.”

This time the sigh was truly exasperated, and Anders could almost _hear_ Hawke rolling his eyes. And just like that, his guilt was overtaken by embarrassment, and a feeling of sheepishness at his own words.

As horrifying as the events of the day had been, he shouldn’t be all obstinate about it like a sulking child.

He leaned away from the embrace, rubbing his face with his sleeve as he attempted a small smile that came off more as a grimace. But his lover cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his lips, disregarding tears and the invisible layer of blood of all people who died under Anders’ hands.

“Come.”

Anders followed meekly, head hung low as Hawke lead him up to the bedroom by his hand. Like a lost child.

A lost child crying in agony.


	3. A Bedtime Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: Cuddles  
> Warnings: None

Hawke settled down on the edge of his bed with a weary sigh, calmly stripping off his gauntlets while seemingly ignoring his lovers in the room with him.

He usually did that when they were quarrelling. He’d let them bicker for some time before deciding it was enough, calling them back to order. He might’ve given up on this long ago if he didn’t know both cared about one another far more than they liked to let on. For all their differences and snappy attitudes, they were as devoted to each other as they were to Hawke.

And they were _quite_ devoted to Hawke.

Tossing the gauntlets to the floor, he cleared his throat loudly to catch their attention while he started on the rest of his armour.

“Are you going to keep acting like a pair of bickering children the whole night? Because if you do, there’s the door. I’m too tired for your shit tonight.”

Fenris levelled him a sharp glare – meaning he’d been on the losing end for once – but Anders had the decency to look sheepish. It was the mage who moved forward first, picking Hawke’s gauntlets up to go put them on the table, idly brushing some dust and dirt out of the cracks as he walked. He knew Sandal would be cleaning the armour the next day, and yet...

Fenris seemed placated by Anders’ behaviour as well, and pointedly looked away as he started to strip from his own armour.

“There, that’s much better.” Hawke offered them both a grin, reaching up to allow Anders to help him lift the heavy garments off him. Before the mage could move away to put it on a neat pile on the desk, Hawke caught him with two strong arms around the waist, pulling him close and down on his lap.

“Hawke,” Anders muttered, somewhere between chastising and pleased. The chastising part seemed to overpower the pleased for a moment when Hawke pushed the amour out of his hands to the floor, but a smile appeared as soon as Hawke hiked up the man’s robes to pull them over his head.

He couldn’t quite reach. Anders was too damn tall, especially on Hawke’s lap.

Fenris came to his rescue, taking over the hem of the robes to pull them all the way up and tossing them carelessly to the floor – earning a disapproving look from the mage once more.

“We’ll take care of that in the morning,” Hawke promised, not in the mood for an Anders right on the edge of starting a lecture for the rest of the evening. “I’m tired. You must be tired as well. Let’s sleep and worry about things like clothes tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow when both your armours have already started rusting and my robes are irreversibly crinkled, you mean?”

“Sandal fixes that easily.” The low rumble from Fenris sounded just as tired as Hawke felt, and he watched the lyrium lined arms wrap around Anders’ torso leisurely. Hawke tugged the mage’s waist closer, making Fenris lean in and share a lazy kiss over a freckled shoulder.

“Sandal fixes that easily,” Anders imitated mockingly, nudging at Hawke’s chest until the kiss ended, pressing him backwards to lay down on the bed. Boots and breeches were removed by joint effort – even if Hawke could no longer determine which hand was doing what, until Fenris crawled over him first to drag him up higher on the bed.

A content grin spread on his face when he received one of his lovers on each side, Fenris curling up against his side in a way that spoke volumes of how depraved he’d been of touch before, Anders pressing flush against his side but just resting his head on Hawke’s upper arm. Hawke curled his free arm around Fenris to hold him close protectively, even if nobody ever openly acknowledged the elf’s behaviour.

“We sleep in tomorrow,” Hawke decided, earning a whine from Anders.

“I have to open the clinic, you kept me away for two days in a row already and-”

His protest was easily broken off by a firm kiss, Hawke’s lips muffling anything Anders might have brought up further. He seemed ready to argue more when his one lover released him, but Fenris reached out to cup a hand behind the blond’s neck and pull him in close so he could repeat the silencing procedure of kissing him silly.

The method always worked.

Even if it ended with a pouty mage snuggling sulkily into Hawke side, while he and the elf smirked smugly to themselves as they relaxed back to drift off into sleep.


	4. Apostasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Sebanders  
> Kinks: Kisses, science-style references  
> Warnings: None

Apostate [1]

Noun

_(plural apostates)_

  1. A person who has renounced a religion or faith.
  2. One who, after having received sacred orders, renounces his clerical profession.



 

Apostasy _a religione_

  1. _Apostasy is a grave sin, the absolution of which the superior may reserve to himself [2]_



‘The superior’. The mere thought made Anders want to laugh. Who was this ‘superior’, who was free to decide the punishment befitting an apostate?  
In his own case, it had always been fairly clear. Running away from Kinloch Hold, he was an apostate to the Circle of Ferelden. Therefore he was to be punished by the First Enchanter.  
Not that Irving had particularly much to say in the matter. It was the Knight-Commander who dished out punishments. Of course, Irv’ tried to be all big and puffed up like a prideful peacock, refusing to acknowledge Greagoir’s power.... but everyone _knew_. The First Enchanter may argue and fight Greagoir as much as he likes, the Knight-Commander had the last word.

It seemed more muddled for apostates like Hawke. His father was an apostate of the Circle of Kirkwall, but Hawke was born apostate. Whose job was it to punish him?

Anders liked to think the answer was _no-one_. And he was likely to argue this point until his last breath. Hawke was a shining example of what apostates could be, _should_ be, and Anders would rather cut off his own leg than see his friend fall in the hands of Meredith.

And so he worked.

He worked to heal the poor. He worked to save every mage he could. And most of all, he worked for _Hawke_. Keep him safe. Keep him powerful. The more Hawke became, the more of a beacon of hope he was. Anders had no doubt he would follow Hawke with the same loyalty even if it wasn’t for Justice.

Sadly though, it left him with little time for anything else. Sleep was a waste of time, eating was a waste of time and food that could be given to the needy. Shopping was... necessary, but most certainly a waste of time too. He could count out the seconds, mentally marking how many patients he could’ve helped in the time it took him to get to the Lowtown market. The amount of potions he could’ve prepared in the time it took him to haggle for prices. The amount of copies he could’ve made of his manifesto in the time this whole exhausting trip took.

 

  1. _[The apostate] is bound by all the obligations laid on him by his vows and the constitutions of his order, but if he has laid aside the religious habit, and if a judicial sentence has pronounced his deposition, he loses all the privileges of his order, in particular that of exemption from the jurisdiction of the ordinary and the right of being supported at the expense of his community [3]_



“Apostate!”

Of course, a _calm_ visit to the Lowtown market would be too much to ask. Anders could hear the odd echo telling him the Templars were at least not in a direct line of sight. He slipped in between two stalls, pressing against a half crumbled pillar that let him peek around the corner and possibly see the Templars coming.  
Peeking over the stall on the corner, he couldn’t spot anything. His nose was telling him the Templars were close though.

He liked to joke he had a nose for Templars. More than the sound of clattering metal, the _smell_ would alarm him of their proximity more than soon enough. Of course it wasn’t exactly a special talent of him, as the smell was simply _really_ that bad.

The stench of stale sweat, old and acrid urine and all colours of congealed blood that caked the crevices of each armour was overpowering in this heat, and Anders often wondered how those Templars didn’t simply faint at their own smell. Aside from being cooked in their plate after five minutes in the sun, the smells were clearly impossible to remove no matter how often the polished the shiny metal.

Anders wasn’t much bothered by it. It was so _very_ fitting, after all.

He pressed his back against the pillar, hearing the thrum of running boots and the sudden sharpening of the sound of metal plate as they turned a corner further down. The Templars were shouting ‘apostate’ on regular intervals, because apparently they had breath to spare and obviously _nobody_ could guess the person pursued by a pack of panting and sweating Templars might be an apostate.

They were idiots, the lot of them.

And again, Anders couldn’t say he was much bothered by it. It made it all the easier for him.

Right as the boots thudded around the corner, Anders reached out to grab the wrist of the fugitive. With a sharp tug he pulled the apostate out of his momentum, smashing him against the pillar none-too-gently. Well, beggars can’t be choosers, can they? Anders could always heal some bruising later.

He reached over to press one hand high over the man’s shoulder, hovering over him and using his body – or more like the bulky robes and the flair of feathers – to block him from sight.

‘Him’ being not quite who he expected.

 

  1. _The apostate is bound to return to his monastery as soon as possible, and the Council of Trent enjoins bishops to punish religious who shall have left their monasteries without the permission of their superiors, as deserters [3]_



“Anders? Thank the Maker, I-”

“Sebastian!” Anders snarled, very tempted to pull away and slink off into the shadows, leaving the priest to his own devices. He was putting himself at risk here. If Sebastian was caught, then so was he, and-

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, why are the Templars after _you_? And why are they shouting apostate at you?”

“Anders please, this isn’t-”

The clattering turned the corner, Anders’ nostrils flaring at the stench, and he simply rolled his eyes. It was too late to toss Sebastian back to the wolves. Besides, he may be a stuck-up fool, he was also Hawke’s friend and moreover being chased as an apostate. There was no way Anders could _not_ try to save him now.

So rather than trying to slip away, he pressed a knee between Sebastian’s, knocking the insides of his ankles sharply with a foot to make him spread his legs a little wider, and subsequently lower himself in height. His hand still pinned high over the man’s shoulder, he used the other to cup – and halfway obscure – Sebastian’s face, and he leaned in to kiss him soundly on the lips.

Sebastian grew stiff as a corpse under him in shock, but at the same time the Templars came by their little hiding space heaving and panting. Anders wondered with a small tinge of amusement just how long Sebastian had had them running. The rogue was fast, and in much lighter armour. And slightly out of breath, it seemed.

The brother may have been frozen in shock, it was not something he could hold out on with his heaving chest. Their lips parted against each other, and Sebastian seemed to try sucking the air out of Anders’ lungs in his need. Naturally, Anders complied. He was a healer, he wouldn’t deny anyone the air to breathe.

Sebastian tasted like the filthy Kirkwall air. He tasted dry and like morning, like running with your mouth open in the worst of places – worst of places being most of Kirkwall, really. But under that he tasted... fresh. Like cold water, perhaps. A flavour so odd to find in the heat of another man’s mouth, Ander couldn’t help but flick his tongue forward, tasting more.

His tongue met Sebastian’s, and to Anders’ surprise he fully reciprocated now. Their stuck-up wannabe virginal brother with a dirty history and a spotless present, was kissing him back with a desperate sort of hunger hardly befitting of a Chantry brother.

It was a mess of mixed emotions; despair and panic, relief and alertness, hunger and passion. Anders couldn’t make sense out of them, so _he kept trying_.

Tongue pressing against tongue, swirling, dancing, breath long forgotten. They needed no air. They needed to taste each other now and find out what these emotions were, distil them back into one.  The cool flavour was like freshly picked herbs, dew drops of the early morning in the Vimmarks, with undertones of earthy bread and grapes and Sebastian. The taste of Kirkwall was on all their tongues, and as easily ignored as the stench of it in their nose. It was just Sebastian now, and he tasted of so much more than Anders could’ve imagined. How could one person taste this brightly?

Anders pressed closer, thigh hitching up between Sebastian’s legs, bodies pressing together. If it wasn’t for that blasted bit of armour, they could’ve pressed flush together. Instead, Anders’ chest met unwelcoming plate, and he made a sound of discontent into the kiss.

It was made up to him with two skilled hands weaving into his hair, tugging and pressing and keeping him close as they practically devoured one another. Anders could feel the heat of the brother’s body only through parts, most shielded by layers of mail and cloth and feathers, but the pressure alone was worth it. The press of their bodies together, the intimacy of it – and how he hated Sebastian with his precious Chantry, but this was mindblowing.

He kissed like sin.

Anders pulled away with a gasp, heaving for air as well as Sebastian now. Neither of them noticed the disapproving looks of the merchants of the stalls they were hiding between. Neither of them noticed the lack of Templars in the street.

For now, all Anders saw was the brightest shade of blue, that made Lyrium look like a bad attempt at a copy. Chestnut lashes fluttering as the man pinned under him blinked, confused, panting, _grateful._

“Why are they calling you apostate?”

His voice was hoarse, but it didn’t matter much. Sebastian had to swallow heavily before he could even attempt to reply, after all.

“For... leaving the Chantry.”

Anders quirked a brow, watching the man to see for a lie. As if pure-and-good-Sebastian was capable of lying. There was a bitter sort of irony in this man being hunted for such a reason, being called _apostate_ when that word was rarely used outside of free mages. Anders loathed to admit Sebastian was pretty much the best the Chantry had to offer, and now he was hunted as well.

He didn’t like the taste of this irony.

“Why now? It’s been years since you left.”

“I dinnae know, Anders. I was on mah way to find Elthina, ask what’s this all aboot. These Templars just ambushed me out of the blue.”

Anders nodded slowly, taking a step back and letting his arms drop by his sides. “I wouldn’t advise going into the Chantry by broad daylight when you’re being pursued by Templars, but I do suppose asking her makes sense. On your own head though.”

“Of course.” Sebastian gave him a quizzical look, which Anders had a hard time not finding utterly adorable with that bright red flush still on his face, lips slightly kiss-swollen.

“Follow me.”

“Anders?”

Anders glanced over his shoulder after stepping out in the street, giving the other a wry smile over his shoulder. “I’m an expert when it comes to smuggling apostates around town. Trust me.”

 

References

[1]English Wiktionary. Available under CC-BY-SA license (as taken from http://www.yourdictionary.com/apostate)

[2] Decree "Sanctissimus" of Clement VIII, 26 May, 1593, "Bullarum ampl. Collectio" (Rome, 1756), V, v, 254. (As taken from http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/01624b.htm)

[3] Council of Trent, Session XXV, _de regularibus_ , xix (idem to above)

[4] Session XXV, _de regularibus_ , iv (idem to above)


	5. Congratulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Kink meme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/8469.html?thread=30768661#t30768661): Nameday spanking for Anders  
>  Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Canders  
> Kinks: Spanking  
> Warnings: dubcon

"You should've told us," Carver chided, voice deceptively gentle while manhandling Anders to the back of the clinic. "Who would've taken care of our good old tradition if Varric hadn't found out? Us Fereldens need to stick together and keep our culture raised high - and all that nonsense, right."  
At least Carver was aware of this level of nonsense, although it was only little relief when he dragged Anders down on his lap while sitting down. It was the shit-eating grin on the warrior's face that truly pissed Anders off.  
"First of all, I'm not Ferelden-" he struggled, trying to push away only to be shoved down by his shoulders, flopping down over Carver's lap properly. "-secondly, you have no right-!"  
He was interrupted by a hitch of Carver's knee, tossing him up long enough for the younger - bloody half his age younger! - to pull up his robes and next shove down his pants and smalls.  
"Carver!"  
"Stop struggling magey. I've been looking forward to congratulate you on your birthday."  
"Let me down!" He shoved at Carver's legs, kicking his own, but the large warrior held him down with frustrating ease.  
"I've been counting," Carver continued cheerfully, as if Anders hadn't spoken. "Every comment you made about mage rights. I'll congratulate you according to how often you whined about it, because you survived another year as a free apostate didn't you?"  
Anderd blanched when he realised what was coming. Not just your average birthday spanking from a stuck-up brat all too happy to silence Anders for once. No, this was going to be the prick's revenge for the past year.  
"Carver just-"  
Interrupted again, the cheerful tone downright unnatural in Carver's voice. "Count with me magey~"

The first resounding crack came down so fast Anders couldn't have been prepared, even knowing what was coming. He yelped, more in indignation that pain at this point, and thrashed.  
But Carver would have none of that.  
"Count," he ordered, false cheer disappeared completely. His voice was demanding, and how easily that tone of voice was usually written off as a brat's whining, it was impossible to ignore the somewhat dangerous edge to it now. Such a bulk of muscle holding Anders too-skinny frame down; Carver could likely snap him in two by accident.  
"Fuck off."  
_Anders had never been known for his sense of self-preservation._  
A fast three blows landed on one cheek, all of them surprisingly well aimed to come down in the same place. Anders tensed and thrashed more, but couldn't pull free no matter what. His legs pulled up, an attempt to shield his hurting backside with his heels, but those were shoved back down unceremoniously.  
"I will spank you in the same spot until you start counting," Carver explained, the calmness of his voice strained by anger or excitement, Anders didn't know. "Your present is a nicely tanned hide. If you refuse to accept it I'll treat my brother with a good view of my handprint on your arse instead. Which will it be?"  
Anders cursed under his breath, only to be rewarded with another three slaps in quick succession on the same spot. He cried out despite himself, feeling his skin burn and a bruise bloom where he was hit. Carver was serious.  
"O-one," he forced out through gritted teeth, to the warrior's delight.  
"That's better!"  
Anders felt pretty upset with the feeling of relief in his gut when the next blow fell on his unharmed cheek, but he counted almost eagerly. Carver set a slow rhythm, allowing Anders to speak between each stinging slap to his burning skin, the relief disappearing damnably fast. Anders started squirming again, but it did less than nothing to Carver's movements.  
It hurt like a bitch and this was the already the most embarrassing thing ever happened in his life. Anders was pretty sure his bum was bright red already, so he tried to protect himself by flailing his arms back, trying to block the blows.  
It wasn't even deigned with a verbal chastisement, his hands merely shoved aside and a few harsh slaps following fast and hard. Anders cried out in surprise and pain, immediately biting his lip to avoid doing that again in utter humiliation.  
Carver was rather intent on having the sound repeated though.  
"Fifteen," he managed, voice breaking. This was _not_ how things were supposed to go! Anders refused to start crying on the prick's lap!  
"I can't hear you counting anymore." Five sharp blows came now and Anders yowled, body stretching and thrashing once more.  
"Sixteen!" He couldn't help the tears rolling down his face anymore, no matter how humiliating this was.  
He hated this ridiculous tradition. He hated the humiliation of being bend over someone's knee like a naughty child. He hated the way his own erection poked into a muscular thigh each time his body jolted with a hard spank.  
He hated his tears and his sobbed counting and the hitched breath of Carver above him.  
"F-fuck magey..."  
"C-Carver please! Please stop, I'm sorry!"  
It burned so much, so good, so terrible.  
"This is your Name Day spanking magey," the warrior panted, "I won't stop until you got every last spank you deserve."  
"P-please-"  
He fell into gross sobbing, hurting and loving and hating it.  
He doubted he would even be able to pretend to sit later that night for Wicked Grace.  
"...and when I'm done, our friends get their turn congratulating you, naughty mage."


	6. A fear of open water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my July OTP Challenge, prompt: A fear of open water followed by comfort  
> Rating: All  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

"Fenris?"

Anders peered in the dark cabin, unable to spot the elf in the small amount of light. It took a step inside and a few heavy seconds to see his lover - if that was what they were - huddled in a corner, glaring daggers at the mage's silhouette in the door.

"What are you doing down here? We only just left, don't you want to enjoy a stiff breeze as long as you can before cramping into stuffy cabins?"

"I have no desire for catching fish in the face on a stiff breeze."

Anders blinked, taking a step closer and watching Fenris tense up under the proximity.

"Are you feeling ill? If it's seasickness, I could soothe your stomach a little. I get it too, myself." The last part added in the hope it wouldn't be the elf's pride holding him back. Anders was painfully aware of how badly Fenris didn't want to be weaker than the mage in any way. Determined to see him as the lesser, no matter how far they had come.

"I'm not feeling ill," came the clipped answer, "go enjoy your stiff breeze."

"Fenris..." Anders stepped closer again, within reach now and making Fenris squirm. He wouldn't be deterred though, crouching down to gently put a hand on the elf's forehead to check his temperature.

Surprisingly Fenris didn't pull away. He scoffed dismissively, but his body seemed to have a completely different opinion on the matter, leaning in to the touch.

"You're not feverish," Anders muttered thoughtfully. "And we both know there's no fish flying on the breeze in these parts. Is it the sea air that bothers you?"

An awkward silence, resulting in Anders pursing his lips.

" If it's nothing, you're going to come on deck with me. If you stay here you won't catch a wink of sleep tonight. Come on-"

He grabbed an armoured arm, successfully heaving the elf to his feet despite the odds. Fenris' resistance was meek at best, causing only on more worry and confusion on the healer's part. Just to be sure his love would be alright he leaned in to press a kiss to a smooth cheek, surprised to find Fenris lean into that as well, without demanding more or pushing him away.

All he knew now was something was seriously wrong. It was just a matter of finding out what.

Fenris was clearly not pleased with the swaying of the ship, but followed right up to the point they would cross the doorway that would bring them on deck, two steps of the stairs down. Anders tugged an arm lightly, but found full resistance this time.

"Fenris?"

"I can get fresh air from here."

"No you can't. Come on." He tugged again, only to be hauled back down to the elf's step. He nearly stumbled down the steps further, being caught with a strong arm around the waist just in time.

"Fenris." His tone was taking on a tone of exasperation, and to his surprise he felt Fenris wince at it. "Tell me what's wrong."

"The fish-"

"Fenris."

A look of discomfort passed over his face, mixed with guilt and - if Anders didn’t know any better he'd say - guilt. Anders glanced outside, trying to figure it out, but there was nothing but-

"The open water makes me... uncomfortable."

Anders' lips pursed again, and he studied the elf's face while large green eyes shifted embarrassedly away, the set of his mouth stoic if one didn't know Fenris any better.

Finally Anders nodded, taking hold of two spiked shoulders to turn the elf around and walk him back down to their cabin.

"Perhaps you are ill after all. Let's lay down to settle both our stomachs. I may ne getting dizzy."

He wasn't, but Fenris' grateful glance up was worth the spirit's chiding about lying. Funny, but Fenris looking grateful or smiling was worth almost anything.


	7. “It’s not my first time, but I’m still hella nervous”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my July OTP Challenge, prompt: “It’s not my first time, but I’m still hella nervous”  
> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Cullen/Anders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

Anders' eyes were dry from staring. He only realised when Cullen finally blinked, breaking their endless shared stare of mixed emotions, and Anders blinked furiously to make up for the time lost.

When his eyes flickered down, it was to see the Templar's hand hovering right over his wrist, not touching.

"Cullen..."

Anders' voice was a mere rasp, but Cullen sucked in a breath as if it had been a blow to the face.

Anders floundered, squirming to not step away, not to flee. Cullen was seeing a ghost, and they both knew it. Neither of them was the same as the last time. Neither of them was quite as bold, quite as sure of themselves.

Anders understood. Cullen wouldn't want him now, not after what happened in Kinloch Hold. Anders' last escape had been just in time, and he hadn't been there for Cullen when he needed him the most. Cullen always resented his escapes.

How could he not find this last one unforgivable?

The hand came up, and Anders struggled not to flinch. Even if he knew, even if he understood... he couldn't bear rejection and anger now. Not from Cullen. Anyone but Cullen.

_Please Cullen please._

If he would hit him now...

Metal gauntlets connected with his cheeks, but not in force. The force was applied in the rough pull forward, and Anders gasped and moaned when their lips crashed together painfully.

He didn't mind.

He all but crawled over the Knight-Captain's desk, pressing closer for the kiss. His stomach fluttered with nerves, expecting to be pushed away any second, but Cullen drew him in closer until he could wrap his arms around the mage, lifting him and turning on his heel sharply.

They marched off and Anders nearly sobbed in despair, clutching to Cullen's hair, his arms and shoulders, wrapping his legs around the Templar's hips, anything to hold on. He couldn't bear being thrown out now-

His fingers scrabbled helplessly on metal plate for a holdfast when he was dropped. Somewhere in the back of his mind Justice bristled, seeing the deposit as proof Cullen blamed Anders for Kinloch Hold, for not being there, but Anders was too emotional for the spirit to pass. Justice couldn't work with this despair like he could with anger-

Anders gaped, mouth opening and closing stupidly at the realisation he was on Cullen's bed, and the Templar was taking off his armour.

"Cullen," he whispered, frightened. _Please don't hate me. Please don't do this in anger. Please Cullen-_

"Anders-" The Templar's voice was low and rough, and it took Anders a second to realise it was aroused and needy, not angry. "I missed you. Please say you missed me too. Anders, please-"

Anders cried, his stomach roiling with nerves, and he laughed hysterically. "Cullen!" Nervous, but ready. "Please, Cullen... please-"

They came together again, and their kisses were desperate. And it was all Anders could do in the hope Cullen didn't hate him now. And only when they truly connected he was sure, and he wept and Justice floundered in confusion, and finally that emptiness was filled again.


	8. “Who let that embarrassing drunk into our wedding?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my July OTP Challenge, prompt: “Who let that embarrassing drunk into our wedding? Oh wait that’s MY relative”  
> Rating: All  
> Pairing: Carver/Anders  
> Kinks: marriage  
> Warnings: None

"Please tell me he's faking and this is some sort of joke."

"I don't think he is."

If anything, the bemused tone of Anders' voice had Carver more infuriated. Not with Anders. Not ever with Anders and especially not today. But the fact that Anders didn’t even sound surprised spoke bloody volumes about Garreth fucking Hawke.

Garreth _Honey Badger_ Hawke, he should probably say, as it seemed his older brother wasn't only dead drunk, but also pinching butts of their guests. Their scant few guest, the only ones willing to come to a small wedding of two Grey Warden men with each their own unique brand of temper problems.

It was easy enough not to provoke Anders' ire in this setting. Even Justice was not keen on disrupting this special moment between Anders and Carver for the sake of their bloody cause. And every single one of their guests knew better than dropping the word 'mage' - Carver had made Fenris swear to behave, for his sake.

But Carver's anger problems just waddled in through the door with a gigantic grin and a boisterous laugh.

"Let him be, Love," Anders tried in vain, and the defeated edge in his voice told Carver they _both_ knew there was no way this was going to end well.

"I'm going to kill him."

"Please don't punch his teeth out. I can't put those back and he'll look horrid."

That was his okay. Anders had little desire to stop him, because fucking Garreth deserved a beating for this and they both knew it.

After a quick kiss to Anders' lips, Carver stalked down the dais towards his brother. Said brother was currently draped across Nathaniel Howe, whispering in his ear - pretty loudly at that - about a threesome with his buxom pirate. Nate, to his credit, looked only mildly annoyed. If stories were to be believed Anders used to do this to him all time, back in the day.

Didn't mean Carver would let his brother disturb his blighted wedding like this.

He hauled the elder Hawke off his Commander by the scruff of his neck, dragging the rogue outside unceremoniously. He heard Anders' voice raise behind him to check if Nate was okay - bless his Healer's caring heart - but didn't stop until he deposited Garreth's drunken ass on the ledge before the building.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you? Why are you pissdrunk this early in the day? The party hasn't even _started_!"

Garreth sat on the ground for a moment, blinking stupidly as if to identify his location, before suddenly turning to look at his younger brother looming over him.

"Carver! Baby brother, don't leave your big brother all by himself? Don't marry to Anders, he tricked you!"

"Tricked me how?" His scowl darkened, and the twitch on Garreth's face told him the other was at least aware enough to realise he was treading on dangerous ground. Good.

"I-into leaving your big brother! Don't go, I'll love you like he never could!"

"And I'm happy for it." Carver shuddered at the thought. His love treating him like a baby brother, mothering him rather than adoring him with those deep amber eyes. A loving hug rather than a content evening-long snuggle. And, Maker forbid, no sex!

"Don't leave meee," his proud older brother, Champion of Kirkwall, started sobbing pathetically, throwing himself at Carver to cling to his finest breeches. Velvet, it was. The shade of his eyes, but darker. His mother made it for him before she died and Anders' look of delight when seeing it on him was worth more than any expensive suit could ever be. Anders did enjoy his fancy clothes and always looked so happy when Carver indulged in that particular love of him.

Salty tears would not do the expensive velvet any sort of good.

"Fuck, Garreth what's wrong with you!? Why are you being such an asshole?"

Carver was startled by a hand on his shoulder, turning to see Anders' warm eyes for a split second before the healer knelt next to Hawke. Garreth's cheek was patted mildly, despite the generous helping of tears and snot.

"Don't worry Hawke. I'm not taking your little brother away."

"But you-ou're stealing him for yourse-elf-"

Anders' deep amused chuckle cooled Carver's ire almost immediately. He loved that laugh. Maker, he loved this man, annoying he may be at times.

"I'm not stealing him any more than I had already done, Hawke. He's still your little brother. Still the same man eager to give you a black eye over this display, but holding back. You know why?"

Garrethn sniffled, and Carver cocked an eyebrow. He would like the answer to that himself. Maker knows why he didn't just punch his brother's lights out straight away.

"Because despite everything, you're still his big brother, and he loves you."

Garreth perked up and Carver rolled his eyes. He reached down and hauled the mage back to his feet, drawing him in by the small of his back to plant a firm - and perhaps mildly possessive - kiss on his lips. Anders merely melted against him, not even attempting to protest about being interrupted mid explanation.

Carver rather liked Justice when he was allowing Anders to decide what to take offense of.

"Sober up before you come back in," Carver ordered. "Food is now, ceremony after. That should be enough time for you to straighten yourself out into something presentable."

Carver turned away from Garreth's whimper, still keeping a hold on Anders' waist to tug him along.

"Oh and brother? Don't you dare miss my wedding."

There was a sound that may have been a sigh of relief when Carver walked Anders back inside. Who knows?


	9. “I hate that I love you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my July OTP Challenge, prompt: “I hate that I love you”  
> Rating: All  
> Pairing: Anders/Dorian  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: snippet from what looks like a longer story, only there is no more

"Of all tragic endings possible, I just _had_ to end up getting stuck to the abomination who singlehandedly sparked a war to encompass almost the entirety of Thedas."

The answer was a deep, tortured sort of sigh, and a weary glance over a shoulder.

"Nobody told you to follow me around."

"True. That's just my marvelous sense of duty coming through."

"Because clearly you needed to do more for Thedas after that whole thing with the Inquisition?"

"Apparently, yes."

Another weary sigh, but no glance. "I will tell you once more: leave if you dislike me that much. Just like I've been trying to get away from your complaining."

" _My_ complaining? Oh, but _that_ is rich. You barely have anything positive to say at all!"

"I'm hunted no matter where I go and now I've got a personal nagger not only in my head, but also at my arse. What positive thing is there to say?"

"At least one of them is handsome?"

Anders nearly choked on a chuckle, not used to laughing at all anymore. Dorian counted that as a major victory, and to celebrate he quickly picked up his pace to come walk on the Healer's side.

He offered a small smile, even if his next words dripped with annoyance. "Too bad you're such a pain. Why not settle down somewhere remote?"

"My work is not done."

"That's what you say every time!"

"Because you keep asking the same question."

"Then give me a better answer! How long until you stop doing this?"

"Until it's time."

"Time for what?!"

That weary glance again and Dorian just wanted to hit him. It was beyond frustrating, getting anything out of him. He regretted following Anders every other second, all his attempts to make the mage help him thwarted kindly, tiredly. Never a laugh, rarely a smile, just a tired mage unwilling to stop moving.

If only he were willing to help Dorian. If only he would stop roaming like a spectre. Dorian needed Anders' help, but he wanted this man to stop inflicting all this suffering on himself. He was drained. He had to stop.

But he was too stubborn to even _listen_ to Dorian's suggestions.

If he could just _leave_ him, it would all be so much easier. But it was far too late for that.

Anders turned on his heel without warning, stalking off the path into a thick patch of foliage. Dorian cursed and hurried after him, spitting leaves and flailing at branches snapping back against him after Anders.

Dorian was about ready to set the whole bush on fire when he reached the end, his foot slipping off the sudden ledge. He shouted, arms milling through the air before Anders grabbed him by the elbow just in time. The older mage offered no words, simply supporting the cursing man until he found his footing before releasing him and moving on.

Wordlessly, he followed the narrow path - a path barely wide enough for some slender beast - ignoring all of Dorian's input. Dorian gave up cursing soon enough, falling to angry stewing.

He hated this man and his random surprises. He hated the stubborn bastard unwilling to listen or compromise. He hated his self-righteousness and his inability to even acknowledge the possibility of an different opinion being valid.

He hated everything about this man, particularly his soft hands and chapped lips and wounded eyes like a kicked puppy.

Dorian was panting by the time Anders stopped to drop to his knees, starting to dig into the ground with bony fingers. Dorian took the respite to brush the leaves and twigs off of himself, giving Anders a cursory glance to determine his progress before grabbing the bedroll off his pack.

This would take a while, and the Healer would be exhausted afterwards. Dorian might as well get comfortable.

By the time he was done, Anders looked even more ragged than before. A miracle, really.

He took a weary step towards Dorian, who reached out to grab a dirty wrist. Mud be damned, blighted fool of a mage.

With one tug Anders was down on the bedroll with him, and he curled up against his chest instantly. Dorian just rubbed his back, pressing a gentle kiss to the exhausted mage's dirty hair.

He hated how Anders wouldn't stop making these caches when he couldn't even take care of himself. He hated how thin he was, how underfed. He hated how he loved him.


	10. Doing eachother’s hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my July OTP Challenge, prompt: Doing eachother’s hair  
> Rating: All  
> Pairing: Sebanders  
> Kinks: fluff with hair  
> Warnings: None

The gentle touch to his hair startled Anders, shooting upright and quickly looking around.

He shouldn’t be surprised to see it was Sebastian, nor that the man continued to run his fingers lightly through blond strands that had come loose from their tie. Even so, Anders was surprised every time the Chantry brother – the _Prince_ – visited him here in the sewers of Kirkwall. This was no place for someone like Sebastian.

But he stood here without a care, nimble fingers working the tie free from Anders’ tangled hair gently.

“I… you came? I didn’t think you would. Shouldn’t you be at-”

Sebastian hushed him softly, shaking his head with that gentle smile Anders had found so infuriating before. It had sparked his anger, but now it sparked something else entirely. Not something Justice approved of anymore, anyhow.

“Y’looked tired when y’left, Anders. I thought it would be better to make sure y’re alright, rather than attending tonight’s prayers.” He shrugged a little, smile apologetic. “It’s nae they were expecting me, anyway. Fer all they know I’m out with Hawke until the morrow.”

“You’re skipping a Chantry service?”

Anders quirked an amused eyebrow, leaning back in his chair to relax under the gentle fingers. They combed through his hair so carefully, never pulling too hard no matter how tangled it got in places after spending a particularly windy day on the Wounded Coast.

“It’s nae skipping if I’m doin’ something more important, is it?”

“Not defensive at all, hm?”

He practically purred, leaning his head back to peer at the man behind him through his lashes. Sebastian’s cheeks were flushed pink, and he was working on Anders’ hair with far more focus than it deserved.

_No. No, no, dammit Justice. Grooming is important._

_Irrelevant._

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again Sebastian was watching him with a rather worried look on his face.

“ _Are_ you alright, Anders? Y’never answered me.”

“I’m fine.” He sighed, head tilting back upright so he could see the mess of papers on his desk. “I’m just tired. This blighted manifesto won’t write itself though, and it’s necessary-”

“Anders.”

The fingers tightened in his hair, and those strong hands cupped his head from either side. Anders held still, breath bated and his heart hammering in his chest. He had no idea what Sebastian was going to say, but it could potentially ruin all their progress together, or save it. He didn’t want the Chantry brother to speak out now and force Anders – _Justice­ –_ to make them drift apart again.

“Please stop exhausting yourself,” the man continued, calmly. As if Anders hadn’t even tensed. “I know your manifesto is important to you, but you can’t write it when you fall asleep on your desk either.”

Anders let his breath slip in a relieved sigh. That was a sensible argument Sebastian had, leaving their disagreement in the middle. Not pushing it. And he was right too, even if sleep felt like a waste of time when he could be writing. Thing was, sleep would happen regardless if he went to bed or not. And proper rest made him much more productive later.

“You’re right,” he breathed, letting his head sink back in Sebastian’s hands. The fingers carded through his hair lovingly a few more times before pulling away, and Anders made a soft plaintive noise at the loss.

The touch returned on his hands though, and when he blinked his eyes open Sebastian was right there before him, smiling.

“Come. Let’s get you cleaned up. Y’re still filthy from the Coast.”


	11. Picnic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my July OTP Challenge, prompt: Picnic  
> Rating: All  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: picnics? Handfeeding  
> Warnings: None

Hawke would probably laugh at him if he saw this. Anders would still do it.

He stretched a little, throat bobbing as he swallowed with his lips closed around Fenris’ fingers. It had only been a small piece of fruit, but he could never resist the lyrium lines when they were offered.

Fenris knew that.

The low chuckle from the elf was both infuriating and pleasing as Anders wrapped his tongue around each lyrium lined finger even while Fenris slowly pulled them away. Anders released them with a pop and a mild pout, batting his lashes up at the elf. The smile he got was _fond_ in a way that made Anders’ heart flutter, and it was a matter of seconds before he was fed another small piece of fruit by dark slender fingers.

It was nice, being like this. His head cradled in Fenris’ lap, stretched out over the blanket they’d brought while he was being fed and pampered, just for a moment. Fenris was making no comment about Anders acting like a magister, and Anders had no reason to mention mage rights. Like this, they could be peaceful.

Hawke would laugh if he saw how Anders enjoyed being hand fed by the elf. But Anders didn’t mind that, because it was a happy laugh. He always felt guilty when he saw the strain their bickering put on their lover.

By the time Hawke returned Anders was almost asleep, no longer being fed and breathing slow and steady, those blessed fingers carding through his loose hair. He could hear Hawke’s heavy steps, he could hear the clanking of his armour as he worked off the heavy plate, but there was no word.

Only when he sensed the warrior standing over him, straddling his hips before crouching, that Anders realized he was probably laid out as a present here.

Hawke loved it when they got along.

“You awake?”

Hawke voice was soft and careful, and Fenris grunted an affirmative before Anders was given the chance. The mage grinned with his eyes still closed, leaving it to that wordless answer.

The next thing he knew, a beard was scratching his chin and chapped lips met his own, the warm weight of Hawke settling on top of him properly. Hawke didn’t remain there for long, splaying out first before immediately rolling off to Anders’ side, snuggling up against him. The beard was now scratching his jaw, a playful nuzzle beneath Anders’ ear drawing a giggle from him – a giggle he stifled immediately and hoped had gone unnoticed.

He could _hear_ his lovers smirking, and new he failed that one.

“Fine, fine. I’m awake, Hawke. What took you so long?”

“I found Sandal with his fingers in the soup again, so Orana had to make new. If we eat it now it’ll still be warm.”

His eyes flew open and he turned his head, met with the sight of a smug Garrett Hawke with his head on Fenris’ knee.

“Orana made soup?” He grinned, pushing himself upright straight away. He was dizzy for a moment, sitting up too fast after laying down for so long, but he barely paused before scooting towards the wrapped pot Hawke brought. It was unwrapped in mere seconds, lid removed and a spoon dipped in so he could sneak a taste.

Moaning, he sat back for a moment, eyes closing.

“Orana’s soup is the best. Give her my thanks, Hawke.”

“Will do.”

Anders dipped the spoon in again and turned on his knees to feed this one to Fenris, who accepted it with an ease Anders would have never believed a year ago. The elf looked equally pleased with the flavor, and Anders wasted no more time dividing the content of the pot between them.

These were the pleasant days together. These were the times Justice allowed him some peace, for the sake of him and his lovers. They made for excellent allies, or so the spirit rationalized.

Anders didn’t care much for allies. But he cared a lot about his lovers, both of them. He may fight with Fenris and sometimes even with Hawke, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.


	12. Tired morning sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my July OTP Challenge, prompt: Tired morning sex  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Kanders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

It wasn’t often Karl woke up to find Anders in bed with him. Anders rarely woke up before Karl, and they couldn’t fall asleep together. Not with the Templars checking on them in the middle of the night, making sure they were all in bed and asleep and not secretly practicing blood magic.

As if they were little children who needed to be watched every second.

But when Anders woke up first, he always dragged himself out of bed, shuffling down the shared space to Karl’s ‘private’ alcove to crawl in with him.

And usually, when he did, he would either take care of Karl’s morning wood straight away, or make sure Karl had morning wood to wake up to at all.

 Hence, it was the most pleasant sort of surprise to wake up to, and it was always a true surprise.

Karl didn’t need to lift the covers to know who was beneath them. The hot mouth wrapped around his cock spoke volumes even without any audible sounds. He was still too sleepy to actually go through the trouble of checking , and lifting the covers would only remove a layer that buffered the sounds. And truly, if there’s something they wanted to be in the early morning, it was quiet.

Karl lifted an arm to drape it over his face, biting in his lower arm to stifle a moan. Anders’ tongue was teasing him in the most wicked ways, clearly trying to make him break and let out a sound. It was so much more difficult to remain silent when he was barely awake yet.

Cruel Anders, making a challenge out of getting them both in trouble.

He let one hand slip beneath the covers to lightly fist the long blond hair, his grip not as tight as it might’ve been had he not been half asleep. The moan of delight from below was quiet and muffled, and Karl echoed it into his arm.

This was a terrible idea.

He tugged lightly on Anders’ hair, but it took him a long few seconds to convince the other mage of coming up to him. His arms wrapped around that narrow waist first, snuggling them together as Anders crawled over him. The blond had barely rested his weight down before they both rolled their hips, their lips locking together to silence each other’s moans.

They were loud in Karl’s ears, but he knew there was no sound aside from the rustling of the sheets. If they held out like this, they would finish unnoticed.

Anders always liked to push their limits though, so even with them grinding together, slick with Anders’ spit, his movements seemed impatient.

Karl was too sleepy for that though. Not that Anders didn’t know _that_ too.

So he tightened his grip, eyes fluttering closed again as he lazily rolled his hips, grinding against the younger man who had more than enough urgency for both of them. Anders squirmed in his grip but didn’t struggle.

All he was was impatient. Always eager, always enthusiastic. Like a puppy – although he would get upset if Karl dared to call him that.

He hummed in the kiss, the blond’ urgency quite literally rubbing off on him now. He started to move faster himself, even if his eyes remained closed and their lips moved quite lazily, nothing like the way their hips rocked.

Hard cock against hard cock, and the deafening noise of the bed groaning beneath their movements. Just in their ears. Perhaps the other mages heard them, but the Templars in front of the door certainly couldn’t.

Soft, pitched whines started to come from Anders, a sound of desperation showing he was close. Karl released him in order to wrap a hand around their cocks, but Anders was clearly not about to wait for him to slowly stroke them to completion. The soft healer’s hand wrapped around his own and a ruthless pace was set, stroking them both fast and hard until Karl arched up against the younger, his breath speeding up to match Anders’ own and his muscles tensing.

It took him just a few moments longer to reach their peak, groaning hungrily in each other’s mouths before slowly slumping together once more. They were sticky and hot now, but neither of them moved to clean up or even cool off.

Their lips finally disconnected, and Karl tried to quiet his heavy breathing as Anders trailed kisses down his stubbled jaw.

“Love you Karl…”

Karl smiled, nuzzling against the side of Anders’ head. “Shush, love. Don’t say that out loud.”

“Mmnn… Karl…”

He pressed a kiss to Anders’ cheek, humming softly to him. They fell asleep again in seconds, not worrying about being found this way.

Everyone knew Anders was ‘afraid of the dark’ anyway, and not a mage would think of hinting a different reason to the Templars.

These were the sweetest mornings, when Anders crawled in bed with him before dawn broke.


	13. Don’t think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is Carver-centric, but low-key Canders  
> [Kink meme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15999.html?thread=62791295#t62791295): Someone uses Carver to get to Hawke  
> Rating: All  
> Pairing: Carver/Templar, Canders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: Emotional abuse sorta

The crash was deafening. Dainty cups that cost a fortune scattered and crashed to the floor, Orlesian cakes and their expensive fine dishes crushed without a care under heavy metal plate.  
A distant part of Carver's mind wondered at the strength of his brother. A mage shouldn't be that strong, but Garrett had always been too bulky. Still, to topple a fully armed Templar over on their dinner table without restraint was impressive.  
And dangerous.  
But that was just a distant part of him. The rest of him was trying to digest the words that had been said. He couldn't quite...  
He couldn't _quite_ understand yet. Like a particularly complicated lesson from his father, looking at him expectantly while he waited for Carver to solve that jumble of numbers and letters into something that made sense. How was he supposed to understand that? It made him want to shout. It made him so _upset_ because he _couldn't_ understand this.  
So really, it was between confusion mixed with anger, and that distant part of him that was _impressed_.  
"How dare you!"  
The hiss of his brother was low and dangerous, yet everyone at the table could hear it. Everyone had gone silent in shock.  
Whether it was in shock over the Champion's actions, or his guest's words, was not quite clear to Carver yet.  
"C-Champion I-"  
"Shut your mouth!" Carver felt a faint shudder run down his spine at his brother's tone. It was rare to hear Garrett this angry. He could get upset, but usually he would joke his way through. One had to do something really outrageous to make him lash out like this, like... like crushing a puppy under your boot on purpose. Or beating up a helpless child.  
_Was that what this was?_  
"You have some guts, doing- _doing_ something like _that_ and the boasting it _right under my nose_. I won't forgive you for this." Garrett sucked in a deep angry breath, and Carver could hear him trembling in suppressed rage, even through that gust of air. "You'll pay for this. You'll fucking pay for this, you bastard. Nobody, _nobody_ gets to harm my family like that."  
Should Carver protest? Should he shout at Garrett to stop sticking his nose in Carver's business? Because that was definitely what this was. Carver's business.  
Carver's lover.  
Or so he had thought. He loved him, but a lover loved you back. He thought his lover loved him back. _Stupid idiot! This is why you should leave the thinking to other people, like Garrett! This is why you'll always be second best!_  
Why did he fall in love with this bastard? Why... why had he been so sweet, if it was all just for Garrett?  
It was always just for Garrett. Everyone only ever wanted Garrett. Carver should've realised from the start, when his crush took a sudden interest like that. One moment Carver was - at best - ignored by the knight he looked up to, and the next he was practically being fawned over. He had been so happy... he'd been too happy to see the obvious. The fakeness. Just another one who wanted Garrett.  
Even if he was so sweet. Had favoured Carver wherever they went. Had _slept with him_ like he _mattered_. All fake. And Carver was the idiot who hadn't noticed.  
Oh, how they must've laughed behind his back, watching Carver trailing behind his crush like a puppy, all heart eyes and eagerness and _happy_.  
_Just this one time he had been happy. Just this one time he felt like someone loved him instead of Garrett._

 

He gasped at the sudden touch to his face, and it took him a second to focus on the face before him. The dining room was mostly empty - Garrett was no longer pinning a Templar Carver loved to the crushed cakes and porcelain shards, and most of their friends had filed out. Only Merrill was still floundering by the door, looking upset, although Carver couldn't quite pinpoint whether it was an angry or a confused sort of upset.  
And Anders, right in front of him. Face sad, a hand on Carver's cheek. Anders' fingers were wet - but it might've been Carver's cheeks that were wet first.  
He slowly sunk down on his chair, Templar armour creaking and clattering like the next wave of violence. It might've been, as his legs could suddenly no longer support him. Odd, that. They didn't usually just collapse beneath him.  
_But the one he loved didn't usually bash his personality, sexual endeavours and intelligence all at once in front of all his friends and brother either._  
Carver didn't cry. But he did lean forward to rest his forehead against Anders' chest when the mage pulled him close. He wouldn't cry over such a bastard, no matter how much he had loved him.  
But he wasn't able to refuse the comfort of warm arms holding him close, when it was offered.


	14. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Kink meme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15999.html?thread=62320255#t62320255): fem!Anders/Fenris, Mulan-inspired  
>  Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: genderbending

They said you could see your whole life flashing by before your eyes when you were about to die. Anders had never experienced this but… clearly it didn’t just take a near-death experience to get there.  
This was the worst possible outcome of today. As if the elf didn’t hate her enough. As if it didn’t hurt enough to bicker and fight with him and having to hide her feelings. She knew that the moment she showed even a hint of how much she cared about him, he would lash out. Surely he would see her feelings as a lie to get power over him, or something equally ridiculous.  
He was all too eager to find a lie in anything she said to begin with.  
She didn’t want to lie to him. She wanted to fight with him even less. But she had to lie, and she feared that the moment she stopped fighting, he would verbally maul her down. They had started out so wrong, and even if her feelings had changed from hate to love… she could not change her behaviour.  
And now he could see her biggest lie. Now he could use this against her. Now he would never trust her again – not that she thought he did so to begin with.  
She shuffled back a little until her bare back pressed against the cold gritty wall of the cave. Her hands were shaking where she held her ripped coat pressed against her front. A false sense of modesty, because he had already seen more than enough.  
His gaze was so intense; she would swear she could feel it burning on her skin. Like he was trying to look through her arms and the ruined coat to see her breasts, unprotected and feeling oddly heavy this naked and exposed. She wanted to break this silence, beg him to leave - _no, snap at him to sod off_ \- get away from him and try not to break over her last loss. All her non-existent chances ruined by a pair of breasts, exposed at the wrong time.  
_Why couldn’t Hawke have come after her when she fled deeper into the cave? Was he too busy looting to take care of his friends now?_  
“Why?”  
Anders flinched physically, pressing harder back against the cave wall. Dirt was gritting into her skin, but she hardly registered it. Fenris’ voice was so deep, so calm… it sounded like the calm before the storm. Like he was about to burst.  
“To escape the Templars,” she replied quietly, voice hardly louder than a breath. He had the upper hand now, and this time she was scared. This time, she was terrified of the man she’d fallen in love with.  
Fenris blinked rapidly, and it took Anders a moment to realise what he was confused about. Her brow furrowed, her head tilting slightly. Had he honestly expected a feminine voice now? Did he think she was faking her male voice instead of using a simple spell? She was a healer; this much was easy. Exposed breasts did not break a voice alteration spell.  
“Does Hawke know?”  
She shook her head, curling up around the ruined coat now. “I never had an opportunity… everyone believes I’m a man, so I never… dared. I didn’t want people to…” She glanced up at him helplessly, and saw the elf startle. He took a vulnerable step back and she blinked away tears that didn’t belong. Tears that weren’t allowed. She could never have had him, so crying over losing him was not-  
“You thought we would judge you based on your gender?”  
She hiccupped, biting her lip and nodding. _She needed to stop crying. She shouldn’t cry; she never had him to begin with._ “You judge me for being born a mage. Why wouldn’t you judge me for being born a woman as well?”  
“I don’t-” Fenris faltered, clearly at a loss for words for a moment. Anders curled in even further, head hanging low as she refused to look at Fenris a moment longer. Watching him only made it hurt worse. And it increased the risk of her snapping angrily again, out of sheer habit. Even if it hurt.  
But his next step was a surprising one. Rather than leaving her alone in the dank cave, Fenris was suddenly upon her.  
Lithe body crouching before her; hands, then arms slipping around her and pulling her in. All of a sudden, she was being hugged by Fenris. The elf who hated her. The elf she had hated, and had come to love.  
“Venhedis!” She flinched, but he held her tight. “Don’t cry, mage. It’s hard enough to argue with you when you’re angry. I know you hate me, and it’s not my comfort you wish for, but-” Anders felt dizzy as Fenris paused, looking for words. She felt almost nauseous, afraid of what his words seemed to implicate.  
_Had they both misunderstood each other all along? It couldn’t be!_  
“Let me… please, just this once.”  
And now Fenris was pleading with her.  
Fenris.  
With her.  
He was hugging her and pleading, and oh, Maker-  
“I’m not pushing you away, am I,” she quipped breathlessly, perfectly still in his arms now. Surprisingly, Fenris chuckled softly at her words, and he _nuzzled_ in her neck. She must be dreaming. But then he tugged down the coat she was clinging to, slowly exposing her chest to his sight once more.  
Her trembling hands let go reluctantly, movements halting until she had managed to convince her fingers to curl out of the fabric one by one. The tattered coat fell away, and the warm palm of Fenris’ hand passed over the swell of her breast. Just the hollow of his hand, barely skidding over her nipple as it abruptly grew hard and pointed from the sensation and the cold. He kept the sharp edges of his gauntlets away so carefully, it seemed unreal.  
“Fenris…”  
She gasped and whimpered, her feelings bubbling over. Nothing she could do or say to express her fear, and her relief at being held.  
“It’s been very long since I judged you, mage,” he muttered against her neck, sending goose bumps over her flesh.  
“B-but you-”  
“-as do you.” His voice was almost hard for a second, before he relaxed against her and hummed softly against her skin. “So let us stop the lies now. All of them.”  
She laughed, even if it sounded more like she was crying. Her arms came up around him to cling to his torso, heavy shudders wracking through her as she pressed her bare chest against the cold, bloody plate of his armour.  
“Yes. Let’s stop the lies.”


	15. Sharing a bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: fluff  
> Warnings: Blood

Hawke was pretty sure he’d heard Anders entering the mansion earlier. The low welcoming woof of Ser and the good-natured shooing of Anders to keep the dog from jumping up against him and licking his face were both rather unmistakable.  
Ever since Ser had wormed his way into Anders’ heart and the rejections of his well-meant love had lost their edge, the mabari had taken a liking to teasing the mage with extra licking and drooling.  
Of course Hawke denied Anders’ accusations that Ser did it on purpose. Ser was just a dog, after all?  
Funny how Anders had never noticed the look he exchanged with his mabari after saying such things.

But right now, Ser was curled up in front of the fire, settled right on top of Fenris’ feet. No Anders in sight.

“Have you seen Anders?”

Fenris ignored him to finish his sentence, his lips moving quietly as he read. Upon reaching the end he looked up, frowning slightly.  
“He just came in a while ago. I believe I heard him fetching Sandal.”

“Hruff.”  
Ser didn’t look up, but the sound was one he would only make when faced with something that smelled particularly bad. That told Hawke enough, really.

“Huh, so he’s having a bath drawn even before saying hello? He must be either very filthy or in a bad mood.”  
Hawke grinned, rolling up his sleeves as he gave Fenris a wink. The elf rolled his eyes but smiled as well, going back to his book when Hawke left for the bathroom.

Anders was exactly where he was expecting him, in a puddle of dark water with a tinge of brownish red that made Hawke shudder. He was scrubbing hard on one nearly clean arm, the other still stained with dried blood and other things Hawke didn’t want to think of.

“Tough day at the clinic?”

Anders glanced up, scowling. “You bet. Bunch of Carta and Coterie decided they were above the ‘no fighting’ rule in my clinic. I spent the entire afternoon extracting glass splinters from various body parts to the sound of delirious, overdosed singing, vomiting and arguing. Lovely combination, that.”

“I’ll made sure there will go another warning out to both about your clinic’s rules.” Hawke picked up a sponge, dipping it in the warm water the tub was filling with from the excellent dwarven plumbing he’d spend a fortune on. So worth it.  
Stopping the mage’s furious scrubbing, he took the man’s wrist and started to sponge off his still dirty arm. The blood had dried into every little crevice of Anders’ skin, but with patience he would get it out fine.

“Sometimes I wonder if those ungrateful thugs are even worth my time. But then they show up and give me these large begging eyes while presenting me with a knife stuck in their leg, and I can’t just leave them be. Especially since I sometimes spot them harassing Templars out of the vicinity of my clinic.”

“They are only worth your time if they abide by the rules, Anders. You should’ve tossed them right out after fighting.”

Anders sighed, clearly reluctant to admit he agreed. He sat in silence while Hawke washed his arm until it was close to clean, only pulling away shortly to turn the tap when the bath had filled enough.  
Hawke tossed the ruined sponge aside when he finished to quickly scoop Anders up, before he would stand up himself. Anders made an undignified sound of surprise but clung to Hawke immediately.

“You deserve a long, relaxing bath,” Hawke told him - or ordered him, really. “You’re going to soak in that water until it’s too cold, and then you’ll warm it up again and stay in longer.”

“I have things to do, love.” It was disgruntled and fond at once. Hawke loved it when Anders made that voice.

“You do. It’s bathing.”  
He carefully lowered his tall boyfriend into the bath, watching smugly how Anders wriggled and got comfortable. The mage relaxed with a sigh, and Hawke knew he would obey.  
While he stripped off his house clothes, Fenris quietly slipped in through the door. With Anders’ back turned, they exchanged a wink and the elf undressed quietly while Hawke clambered into the tub with Anders.

“There we go love, isn’t this better?”  
Anders made a soft, noncommittal sound, his eyes closed but a smile playing on his lips. Hawke pulled the mage closer to sit between his legs, allowing him to use his chest as a soft backrest. He absently rubbed the pads of his thumbs over Anders’ wrists to clean them further, not bothering with more hard scrubbing. A good soak would help clean the rest out.

Fenris joined them quietly, and Anders nearly jumped when the elf presumably touched him under water.  
“Andraste’s knickers, Fenris! A warning would’ve been nice!”

“You know you have nothing to fear in this house,” Fenris berated him instead, his voice oddly gentle while he scooted forward to sit sideways on Anders’ lap, curling against his chest with a soft hum. “Stop jumping when it’s only me.”

“Only you, my ass. You sound ready to strangle me half the time we speak.”

“As do you, mage. But neither of us really would, am I right?”

Anders sighed and relaxed again against Hawke’s chest, and Hawke let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Be nice,” he muttered in Anders’ ear, rubbing his wrists for a moment longer before pulling them along to wrap his arms around Fenris.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, somewhat obstinately. Still, an apology only came when he meant it, and Fenris knew so too. The elf straightened in their arms to peck Anders’ lips, and when he leaned away again to smirk Anders scoffed.

“You two will be the death of me.”

“Nonsense!” Hawke grinned, squeezing his arms around his two lovers until they were both making choked sounds of protest. “A bit of extra love won’t kill a man.”


	16. Massage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Handers  
> Kinks: Massages  
> Warnings: None

“Ohhnnngh that feels _good_.”

Anders rolled his eyes but kept kneading Hawke’s shoulders, pressing his thumbs down to slide over his shoulder blades with easy, practices strokes.

“Nnngfuck there! Right there!”

“Make one more sound like that and I’ll drop you off at the Rose and _leave_  you there.”

“Andersss…” Hawke whined, wriggling under the kneading hands before settling again. “Let me enjoy this luxury. I never met anyone who’s as good with his hands as you are, let me make appropriately appreciative sounds!”

“There is nothing appropriate about those sounds!”  
Anders laughed despite himself, working his hands down to find a particularly resilient bump to massage out. Hawke moaned and whimpered as if Anders had never told him not too, and Anders just sighed good-naturedly. It was useless to try make Hawke do anything, anyway.

“Fuck- oooh _how_  do you do it? That crick has been there for days!”

“Then tell me sooner next time,” he berated gently, smoothing his hands over the injured spot a few more times before moving on. “You know I’ll do this for you anytime, love.”

“You’re the best.”  
Suddenly large, meaty hands grabbed hold of his wrists, pulling him around the chair and down on Hawke’s lap. Anders made a sound of protest, but allowed himself to be manhandled regardless. He wiggled and got comfortable immediately - only to be pushed forward to Hawke’s knees.

“Garrett? What are you- oh!”

His toes curled and he quickly grabbed Hawke’s knees between his thighs for support, his back arching. Those cruelly strong hands had found a sore spot in his back like a magnet, kneading and pushing at it with a tender sort of roughness only Hawke could accomplish. For all his complaining about his lover’s sounds, Anders let out a positively obnoxious moan at the feeling of the soreness being kneaded out as easily as if he had used magic.

“You never tell me when you’re sore either,” Hawke reprimanded playfully, his hands moving skillfully over Anders’ back.

“I-I didn’t know you could- oooh… Andraste’s frilly knickers, Garrett!”

Hawke laughed, and Anders blushed bright red.

“That’s it love. That’s it.”


	17. Cuddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: All ages  
> Pairing: Nanders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

“Naaaaate.”

A long silence. Too long. He always ignored him, the silly man.

“Naaaaaaaaaaate!”

Ah, there was the annoyed twitch of the archer’s brow. He was getting close now. Finally.

“Naaatenatenatenaaaaaate!”

“Would you stop that and just say what you want?”

Such a harsh snap, but Anders knew Nathaniel loved him nonetheless. Who didn’t love him anyway?  
So he just held out his arms, pursing his lips into a theatrically sad pout. 

“What, here?” Nathaniel’s eyes widened, like he had honestly not seen it coming. Then again, he had his own sort of adorable innocence, so maybe he really hadn’t seen it coming. Anders would just have to teach him better.

“Of course, _here_.” He pouted even harder, if that was possible. “You haven’t held me for- for over a day! A day, Nate!”

“Can’t you just wait until we get back? We’ll be back at the Keep in an hour, at most!”

“Naahaaahaaaaate!”

The old couple on the front of the cart started to give the Grey Wardens between their vegetables annoyed looks, and Nathaniel sighed. With a dramatic roll of his eyes he gave in, scooting a little closer and holding his arms out for Anders to snuggle in.  
Anders didn’t waste another second, pouncing down and cuddling up against Nathaniel’s chest. He buried his face against the archer’s shoulders with a pleased hum, wiggling until he was safely wrapped up in those strong arms.  
To be fair, it _would_  be more comfortable to cuddle in a bed, rather than on a farmer’s cart on a bumpy road, but Anders would take cuddles where they came. And being held by Nathaniel was always so much better than _not_  being held.

The archer relaxed beneath him soon enough, and Anders could feel him nuzzle his hair. He smiled lazily, letting his eyes slip closed for a short nap. Until the Keep, perhaps.  
Like this, he wouldn’t mind if they took another day to get back. He was already home.


	18. Untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Kanders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

“What did you do this time?”

“Whaaat? I didn’t do anything!”

Karl didn’t deign that with a response, and it was a matter of seconds before a deep sigh came from beneath the bed.

“Okay, so I maaay have accidentally given Ser Temra an aphrodisiac instead of a cough syrup. And maybe she shared it with her roomies because how should I have known she’d go share the medicine I gave _her_  with everyone else with a cold? That’s irresponsible, I tell you!”

“Anders.”

“….it wasn’t even a very strong potion.”

Karl couldn’t hold it in anymore. He started chuckling, quickly covering his mouth with one hand to muffle it. He would be openly laughing with Anders had it ben any other prank, but he always had to stop and be the responsible one when Anders misused his status as a healer. He’d lose credibility if he kept this up - and if Anders lost credibility, he’d also lose all his privileges. And Karl wouldn’t stand by as Anders got himself into _serious_  trouble.

“Are you laughing? You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?!”

“Anders, _please_!” He laughed out loud before he was able to rein himself back in, trailing off on a last chuckle. Pulling his face straight, he stepped in front of the bed so Anders would be able to see his feet.

“You know what I’ve been telling you about pranks when you’re supposed to heal people. I’m not helping you get out of this mess-” a plaintive whine came from under the bed, and a hand reached out to tug on Karl’s robes forlornly “-but I’ll be there if you get away by yourself. Or when they’re done with you. Please stop being such an idiot, Anders.”

“Kaaarl….”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be too embarrassed to properly explain what the charges are anyway.” Karl chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’ll get away with some extra chores, probably. Next time, let’s grease the doorsteps of the Templar barracks.”

“……fine.”

“Good luck, Anders.” He leaned down to give the hand from under the bed a loving pat before leaving the other mage to his self-inflicted problems.

He had to admit though… that was a pretty sweet prank.


	19. Mouthy Brat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: Spanking, belting, D/s  
> Warnings: deep into subspace

“Oh my, do we have a naughty apostate again?”

Hawke closed the door behind him with a smirk, eyeing the scene on his bed. Fenris had Anders naked over his knee, the normally pale freckled bum already a bright shade of red.

Fenris looked up, bare hand pausing in the air. Anders whimpered, but stayed put. They must’ve been at it for a while, for Anders to have stopped resisting altogether.

“Right in time, Hawke. My hand is getting sore.”

“Need me to take over?” He waggled his eyebrows and Anders made a pathetic sound, starting to squirm again now.

“No, please- I’m sorry-!”

Fenris’ hand landed with another resounding smack on the apostate’s bottom, drawing a squeak from the man before the elf drew him up. Anders scrambled back to sit on his haunches, reaching behind him to cover the assaulted ass immediately with his hands.

Hawke made quick work of his gauntlet and chest plate, taking off only the necessary to make sure he wouldn’t hurt Anders more than intended. None of them wanted to mess with Grey Warden blood, after all – nor was any of them particularly interested in drawing blood from each other in the first place.

He took Fenris’ place on the bed, patting his lap invitingly. Anders’ face was red and splotchy from crying, and he didn’t even hesitate to obey. Once the apostate lay comfortably over his lap, cock wedged between his thighs, Hawke smoothed his palm over the burning skin now so beautifully presented.

“What are you being spanked for, Anders?”

“I-I was being mouthy…”

“That’s all?” Hawke cocked an eyebrow, looking up at Fenris expectantly. The elf grimaced, stepping closer menacingly.

That was all it took to have Anders whimper and try pressing closer into Hawke, attempting to put more space between him and their angry boyfriend.

“I-I was mouthy about Danarius! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean i-it-”

Hawke shook his head and sighed, before landing a hard spank on Anders’ burning backside. The sound of his palm hitting flesh was loud enough to nearly echo back, and Anders cried out and jolted.

tHe struggling started, the apostate now realising he was not going to be let off easy by Hawke. Hawke had to pin his arms on the small of his back, pushing his legs down with a low noise of warning. The blond was sobbing but gave in again, staying tense but once more pliant on Hawke’s lap.

He hit a little less hard now. Not because Anders deserved mercy, but because it would be easier to set a rhythm like this, which would be far more effective on the long term.

Then again, considering the state Anders was in, this already _was_ the long term.

“You deserve more than just a spanking for that, you know that right, Anders?”

“N-no-o _please_ -”

“We talked about this. If you want to be a brat and keep fighting with Fenris at each turn, that’s one thing. But you leave Danarius out of it.”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry!”

Hawke didn’t let up despite the apologies. Their rules had been clear. Danarius was not a name to be used in their spats, just like Fenris was not allowed to bring up Anders’ experiences back in the Circle of Ferelden. It was simple as that.

“I think you should be apologising to Fenris.”

“I-I’m sorry Fenris- I’m sorry!”

“Not like that.” Hawke paused the spanking to look up at the elf still standing over them, offering a grin. “Why don’t you lay down and prepare for an apology you like?”

Fenris had been watching with a quirked eyebrow, but at Hawke’s proposal his eyes widened in realisation. He gave a small nod before stepping away, stripping down himself to prepare.

Anders was squirming to look around, fearing whatever his boyfriends were coming up with.

“Anders. Stay down.”

The apostate whimpered, then cried out again at the next slap. Hawke hummed quietly in approval, his pace that bit slower for now. Just to keep Anders warm for what was to come next.

He felt Fenris crawl on the bed behind him, heard the rustle of his feet against the soft sheets, and then a deep sigh. Hawke grinned that little bit wider, knowing exactly what Fenris picked. He’d have to keep Anders warm a little longer then.

The squirming and crying died down a little in the time he used softer spanks, just whimpers coming out each time his hand met hot skin. Hawke kept his ears open for the sounds of Fenris, hearing only the quiet wet squelches and the deepening of his breath. He only got warned by the elf’s foot grazing his back inquiringly.

“Ready, Fenris?”

“Yes,” he moaned breathily, and the sound made Anders tense up again. It also made his cock twitch between Hawke’s thighs, where it had been half hard the entire time. It was his favourite way, practically forcing the mage to get hard and stay hard by making him thrust his cock between clenched thighs on each spank landing on his ass.

They’d be playing the same game next, but with a slight variation.

“Come on, love. Let’s move you so you can apologise.”

He lifted Anders up with his boyfriend’s unhelpful help, the blond squirming to sit upright. The man sniffled, looked around at Fenris, and froze. When Hawke stood up to slip his arms around him, he could more feel than hear the soft keen of desire deep in Anders’ throat.

“Eager to apologise, I see?”

Anders nodded eagerly despite himself, and Hawke released him to let him crawl over their boyfriend himself. Fenris had draped himself over the bed luxuriously, legs spread wide in invitation – an invitation Anders took without hesitation.

Really, he should know better.

The advantage was that Anders had grown fully hard real quick with the prospect, and while Hawke quietly removed his belt, he could enjoy the sight of him penetrating Fenris in one smooth stroke. Fenris let out a quiet but pleased moan, his legs wrapping around Anders’ thighs to pull them apart, locking him in place.

That was the part where Anders seemed to realise he was not just going to get to fuck Fenris normally now.

“You remember your watchword, Anders?”

“Y-yes…” His voice was tiny, scared, but it was still a yes. That was all Hawke really wanted to know.

He walked around the bed, crawling up on his knees to sit next to the pair. He put one hand on the small of Anders’ back, resting the loop of his belt lightly on the bright red ass.

“You have been really, very bad, Anders. You are going to apologise now until Fenris is _satisfied_.”

Anders spasmed, his ass tightening as he whimpered.

“Please, please no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry _please_.”

It pleased Hawke to see that, in the end, it was Fenris who took pity on Anders. He had hoped he would, because that meant Anders would be forgiven once this was over. He would hate to see Fenris remain hurt despite this thorough punishment.

“This once, you may use your electricity, mage.”

Anders sobbed and cried, but some of the tension left his frame. His hand came down to snake between his and Fenris’ body for the elf’s cock, and Hawke decided that was his cue to start.

The apostate cried out loudly when the belt hit the first time, his hips bucking forward sharply and drawing a gasped moan from Fenris. Electricity crackled between them, and Hawke let the belt come down again.

It was rare to hear Fenris let go, but Hawke imagined it was pretty hard not to right now. Anders was sobbing on top of him, his hips bucking each time the belt landed and his hand moving desperately on the elf’s cock to get him off. With how loud Anders was being, crying, begging, apologising, Fenris probably forgot to stay quiet himself.

Hawke didn’t mind.

His pants were somewhat uncomfortably tight, but he was otherwise fine belting one lover’s ass to fuck the other. And it didn’t take long, not with Anders being allowed to use his magic.

Hawke had little more than ten blows of the belt in when Fenris’ toes curled against the sheets, his body arching as he came with a deep grunt of pleasure. Anders cried into the elf’s shoulder, his hand still pumping, still crackling small bolts of lightning between them.

Hawke dropped his belt behind him on the floor, crawling forward until he could sit between both his lover’s legs, Fenris unhooked his legs from Anders’ to release him, and Hawke drew the blond back into his arm.

“There you go love, you made it.” He pressed a kiss to a sweaty temple, nuzzling the side of Anders’ face while he wept.

It took Fenris a few more moments to recover from his orgasm – Hawke knew all too well, when Anders got to use his magic you would be dizzy and basking in the afterglow for almost an hour, if done well – but he managed to push himself upright as well. He knelt before them, cupping Anders’ face and tenderly kissing him.

Hawke bit down on his lip to keep from grinding up against Anders’ ass at the sight. So beautiful, Anders’ face a complete mess of tears and Fenris being so sweet with him – but if he would grind up now he’d just hurt Anders’ poor abused ass again.

“It’s alright now,” Fenris whispered against Anders’ lips, and Hawke felt himself melt a little.

Or go even harder, he couldn’t be sure.

Fenris dipped down to take Anders’ erection in his mouth, swallowing him down and bobbing quickly and efficiently to get the blond off. Anders kept crying, but he clung to Hawke behind him, his body shaking and his hips bucking until he came quickly, moaning and sobbing throughout. He went slack against Hawke and he kissed the blond hair again, muttering sweet nothings.

He was more than a little grateful Fenris reached underneath Anders for Hawke’s erection as well. He lifted the crying blond a little higher against his chest, watching the mop of white hair disappearing beneath Anders’ bright red ass while fingers worked his pants open.

He wasn’t all that embarrassed to be done just as quickly as his lovers had been.

He transferred Anders to their boyfriend’s arms while Fenris licked his lips, letting them lay back down so he could quickly get rid of what remained of his clothes. When he joined them on the bed, Anders’ tears had subsided to just the occasional whimper, and he ended up sandwiched lovingly between Fenris and Hawke.

“Take a nap, love,” Hawke muttered against his hair, reaching over to pull Fenris in his arms as well, both his lovers in one big hug. “You’ve done well.”

Anders nodded meekly, sniffling and hiding his face against Fenris’ chest.

“I’m proud of you,” Fenris rumbled quietly, and that was all they needed for it to be perfect. Hawke smiled, closing his eyes and letting himself drift off.

They were proud indeed.


	20. Shaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Isabela/Anders  
> Kinks: Shaving  
> Warnings: None

“Andraste’s knickers, I need a shave.”

Anders rubbed his chin with a scowl, the scratching of stubble practically gone as his beard had grown. It was an actual beard now, no longer the sexy stubble he liked to keep. It was frustrating.

“Then why don’t you?” Hawke leaned over him, cupping his chin to give the beard a good, appreciative rub. “I like it. It’s like you’re growing a beard to look like me. I know I’m irresistible Anders, but you are pretty handsome yourself even without the beard.”

“Very funny.” He batted the man’s hand away good-naturedly, before holding up both his hands. There was an unmistakable tremor in both hands, and Hawke made a sound of understanding.

“It’s been so busy at the clinic, and with Justice… well, whenever I have _time_ to shave, my hands are shaking with exhaustion or frustration, or worse. When they’re not shaking, I’m usually still elbow deep in a patient’s guts for a surgery of one another.”

“I could shave you?”

Anders blinked, head turning slowly to the owner of the voice.

“Hey, don’t give me that look! I am nice sometimes!” Isabela was looking almost offended. Almost.

“You would? Really? What’s the catch?”

“No catch. All you have to do is trust me to touch you with a knife, sweet thing~”

Anders barked out a laugh, slapping the table. “Isabela, please. You know your way around a knife. You’d probably shave me better than I ever could myself.”

“Oh, you bet I can.” She leaned forward, smirking and licking her lips. “You _bet_ I can.”

…

The smooth slide of the knife was followed by the sharp burn of cold air on naked skin. Every slow scrtch scrtch scrtch was followed by quiet gasps, perhaps a soft moan here and there.

Isabela _definitely_ knew her way around a knife.

She was _caressing_ him with the razor, every touch like a lover’s kiss. The blade was sharp enough for her to cut open an artery with the smallest slip, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t.

No, Isabela controlled her knives as well as she did her ship. Perhaps even better.

She made a low, humming noise and Anders could feel it running up his spine. He had to force himself to keep still, his entire body aching to start trembling under her touches. Had he known it would be so erotic to be shaven by the pirate, he might not have agreed to it.

Then again, this was just perfect. He’d never been shaven like this before, and he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted different again.

“And there’s the last- there you go.” Isabela released her gentle hold, smiling fondly down at her work. She splashed some warm water against his skin to rinse the foam away, leaning over to place a peck on the clean skin.

“You are gorgeous, sweet thing. You should let me shave you more often.”

He gasped, unable to find the words for a reply.

All he could do was spread his legs a little wider when her hand teased lightly over the freshly shaven skin in between, inviting her further.

“Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest~”


	21. Sickening voices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Sebfenders  
> Kinks: voice kink  
> Warnings: None

“Are you an Andrastian, Fenris?”

“If I say no, will you attempt to convert me?”

This was sickening. The conversation, the people having the conversation, the fact that Anders had no choice but to listen, but most of all, the voices in which the words were exchanged. A shudder ran down his spine, heat pooling in his belly and he scowled like he had just been personally offended.

Just imagining having these two men on his side, vouching for mages… people would be too busy swooning to object against mage rights.

“Many elves believe in the Maker. I ask only because I wonder if your experiences... soured your faith.”

Anders made a sound of disgust, earning a glare from both men. They didn’t even bother addressing him though, just giving him a foul look over their shoulders before turning forward again and continuing to ignore him.

If only he could ignore them too. This was making him sick.

Sick with hatred and desire both, and it was the worst.

He despised these men, one more than the other, and _why_ did they have voices like these. Why did they use those voices to taunt him with conversations such as these? What had he ever done wrong to deserve this?

“My faith was never strong. It's difficult for a slave to have faith in someone who abandoned them.”

Anders clenched his fists so tight it started to hurt. If he could just punch them… or kiss them. Couldn’t they at least speak of nicer things? Stop this offensive topic and speak of pleasant things like kittens, mage rights and how they could fuck him into oblivion.

Heat crawled up his cheeks as he realised what he was thinking.

No. No way. He wasn’t getting turned on by Fenris and Sebastian speaking of their blighted faith.

“The Maker didn't enslave you, Fenris.”

“He didn't help me much, either.”

But these voices sure could enslave _him_.

Anders grunted in discomfort, face bright red. He tried to rearrange his pants subtly, but it was a lost cause, it seemed. At least his coat was heavy enough not to show the bulge… yet.

How would Sebastian sound speaking dirty though? Saying words like ‘cock’ and ‘slut’ in that voice…

Anders swallowed hard, shaking his head. That couldn’t possibly be as sexy as he was imagining it. And how about Fenris? He would sound like he was about to bite your dick off if he were to growl an order in that gravelly deep voice – _oh Maker_ -

“And yet you stand here, free. Perhaps He helped you more than you think.”

_A free man to use that voice to fuck a poor innocent apostate’s mind into an incoherent mess, yes._

This was hardly fair.

…

Anders stopped short when he nearly bumped into the pair. He had been flushed already, but now his face grew positively bright red with the inquisitive looks he was getting. Curious and suspicious. Just like them, really. The Starkhaven brogue with the curious inquiring lilt to it more often than not, and the deep rasp of the Tevinter with the always-present suspicious downturn, always expecting the worst.

Their faces, just like their voices.

“Are you alright, Anders? You have been groaning… like you’re in pain?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He pushed between them to stalk after Hawke stiffly, cock pressing painfully hard inside his breeches. _Just one more word and he may just come in his pants, embarrassing himself for good._

A sound that could almost be defined as amused; low, gruff, _Fenris_ \- “I believe the mage is _up_ to something.”

_For the love of-_


	22. Boring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: Double penetration  
> Warnings: There will be no actual double penetration

Hawke shuddered heavily, shaking himself like his dog would to get rid of whatever cold shiver was running down his spine all of a sudden.  
Anders could see it all across the room. That was probably the purpose too.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, putting his quill down and blowing the ink on his page dry for a moment. Then he got up, leaving his papers where they were to join his lovers on the couch.

Fenris sat curled up in a corner, huddling in on himself as he was staring into his book, his concentration palpable. Best not disturb him.  
Hawke was sitting on the other end, arms wrapped around his knees as he stared longingly at the elf. The warm elf. His warm boyfriend.

Anders crouched before the fireplace, tossing in some logs and lighting them with a flick of his wrist. When he turned back it was to find Hawke looking at him now, a small grateful smile on his face.

“It’s getting colder, don’t you agree?”

Anders smiled, and Hawke just nodded, squeezing his knees a little closer. The Champion of Kirkwall, unwilling to admit he’d been cold.  
Then again, he was likely more starved for attention of either of his boyfriends than actually cold, if Anders had to hazard a guess.

He sat down next to Hawke, pressing up against him immediately to force him out of his upright fetal position. Hawke’s arms slipped around him without question, his knees coming down and his feet wriggling under Anders’ ass. Anders wriggled and lifted himself until he had himself practically on Hawke’s lap, comfortable and warm and wrapped up in a prefect hug.

“Were you bored, love?”

The teasing lilt to his voice clearly didn’t escape his lover, because Hawke cleared his throat awkwardly and looked pointedly away to the fire instead of meeting Anders’ twinkling eyes. The apostate stretched a little to plant a kiss to Hawke’s jaw, and that was enough to placate his burly warrior.  
Hawke gave him a sheepish smile and then a kiss, nodding in agreement.

“Just a little.”

“Want me to un-bore you?”

“You already are, love. I couldn’t be bored with you on my lap.”

“Indeed, I wouldn’t let you.” Anders wriggled again, pointedly rubbing up against Hawke’s crotch.

“Not saying no to that.” Two strong hands slipped up Anders legs, under the robes he’d taken to wearing inside. They were a tad shorter than the floor length robes he’d had to wear in the Circle, but one important detail remained the same.  
Hawke hiked up the fabric, exposing his bare ass to the cool air of the library. Hawke made an appreciative sound, rubbing his hands over the smooth skin, as if honestly hadn’t expected this.

Well, he probably hadn’t expected Anders to be shaved clean, considering he didn’t usually do that. Fenris had so much  _fun_  this morning shaving him though.  
The same Fenris who now managed to still be completely swallowed up in his book, lips moving along word for word.

Anders cast a grease spell, reaching behind him to press two fingers of the slick inside of himself.  
“No need to stretch me love.”

“Won’t I hurt you?” There was a hint of worry to Hawke’s voice, but the speed with which he could feel the man’s bulge grow hard beneath him was almost alarming. Anders quickly unlaced his lover’s house pants, allowing his erection to spring free.

“I may be a bit tight, but loose enough for you not to hurt me.” He pressed a kiss to Hawke’s lips before winking. “Besides, I want you inside me before Fenris even notices what’s going on. See if we can get him embarrassed for not noticing.”

Hawke chuckled, his large hands cupping Anders and lifting him with ease. He was maneuvered to straddle Hawke backwards, made to watch the still reading elf while he was lowered on the thick cock beneath him.

 _He was definitely a bit tight_.  
His breath hitched, a high keen tearing from his throat as he threw his head back. The pressure was amazing, all his senses tingling with being penetrated by his lover just like that. No warm-up, just cool air and a thick cock pressing into him.  _Exactly what he’d hoped for_. 

They’d spend plenty of time on foreplay the next round again, he was sure. Hawke generally loved the foreplay.  
Not that Anders disagreed, but he liked the diversity of this.

When he trusted himself not to sway right off Hawke’s lap again, he lowered his chin, eyes slitting open to give the reading elf a lustful look.  
Or no longer reading elf, as he was regarded with wide eyes, pupils blown with lust, tan fingers crumpling the pages of the book in the tight grip he was holding it with.  
Anders managed a lazy sort of smirk and rolled his hips, signalling Hawke silently he could start moving.

And Hawke  _did_  move, blessed fucking Andraste. Anders moaned loudly, having to force himself to keep his eyes open, keeping his gaze locked with Fenris’. Hawke’s deep voice rumbled beneath him with pleasure, and if Anders wasn’t still so tight he’d be picking up the speed himself to ride Hawke hard. He would, if he could.  
It was just that neither of his lovers would allow him to hurt himself like that. Even if he was a healer.

His eyes must’ve closed after all when Hawke managed to set a smooth, steady rhythm, because there were suddenly warm lips on his own, and slender, strong fingers tangling into his hair to pull the string keeping his ponytail up. He knew he’d be met with those blown green eyes, regarding him with the same passion he was feeling himself, so he allowed his eyes to remain shut, opening his mouth instead. A tongue slid in, and he moaned deeply.

Soon enough, he was leaning back against Hawke's chest, those large hands holding him just high enough to allow the cock inside him to  _pound_ , a hand full of lyrium fondling his balls and then Hawke’s; then his own again.

“Will you take me as well, mage?”

It had become an endearment long ago, and Anders could only moan in response, his cock twitching in excitement at the thought.

“Yes... fuck Fenris  _yes-_ ”


	23. Pampering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Sebfenders  
> Kinks: Rimming  
> Warnings: None

There was something inexplicably arousing and dirty about just being kissed by Sebastian.  
Perhaps it was the way he only ever gave in to kissing like this when he was really worked up. He would give simple loving pecks, of course, but the lingering, passionate kisses like these? No, they usually only came after he had just watched Fenris fuck Anders raw.

Which was _not_  currently the case.

Anders was taken by surprise, stumbling back until Sebastian had him pinned against the wall, kissing him hungrily. He could feel the man’s erection pressing against his thigh, rutting with a desperation Anders didn’t recognise of the brother.  
Then again, the heavy taste of alcohol _may_  hide a hint to his lover’s behaviour.

It was with reluctance that he peeled Sebastian off of him, pushing him just far enough for their lips to disconnect. They were both panting, and those bright blue eyes were so dark, almost only pupils with how wide they had blown in a combination of inebriation and lust.

“S-Sebastian… not that I don’t appreciate the attention, but I think you’ll regret this later… probably at the same time the hangover sets in, I reckon.”

“Ah won’t.”  
Andraste’s nipples, how did he manage to turn just two words into such a thick Starkhave burr?

“Sebastian, please… I will only accept those words as consent when you’re _not_  drunk. Your dick stays in your pants or so help me-”

“Fine!”  
Anders gasped, teeth suddenly on his neck, _biting_. His knees buckled - in sheer shock, he’d say - and he found himself sliding down the wall along with the Chantry brother.  
Said Chantry brother had only bitten once, and had taken to licking almost immediately after. Anders tried to hold him back once more, but his wrists were grabbed and pinned above his head in one hand.  
And that was it, really. Anders was well aware it was useless to even _try_  breaking out of Sebastian’s grip. If Sebastian pinned you down, you were stuck. At least Fenris was light, and more easily dislodged. But Sebastian was far more heavily boned as a human, and all his strength lay in his arms.  
The alcohol and Sebastian had won.

Anders squirmed just slightly, feeling how his coat was practically ripped open while Sebastian ravaged his mouth once more. He wanted to struggle and protest, he wanted to protect his lover from making this mistake, but he was a selfish man on the inside and _he wanted this so badly it hurt._

He gasped and keened as his nipples were pinched, first the one, than the other. His mouth was released again and he sucked in air, heaving and dizzy with a lack of oxygen. Sebastian’s skilled lips found his nipples to tease instead, nipping, licking and kissing with an eagerness that spoke of long years of chastity.  
Long years of chastity and a whole lot of experience in this department nonetheless.

It was easy for the archer to reduce his lover to moans and gasps, Anders left panting and squirming beneath him, barely even propped up against the wall anymore. Only the hand pinning his wrists above him was keeping him from sliding down all the way on the floor, basking under the attention he was given.  
It was maddening, the way Sebastian treated him now. He was so passionate Anders felt like he was being revered like Sebastian would only do Andraste. Sebastian could have a single-track mind sometimes, and it was all focused on Anders now.

He gasped, whimpered, hips bucking up to draw attention to the tent in his breeches.  
Sebastian heeded the call, tearing open the already ratty breeches and shoving them down Anders’ hips. Anders made a desperate sound when this wasn’t followed by a touch to his neglected erection though. Sebastian just knocked his knees further apart and released the apostate’s wrists to duck down.

A squeak escaped him when he found himself dragged down, shoulders hitting the floor and leaving just his head propped against the wall. His ass was lifted, and before he knew what was going on there was a hot wetness sliding between his ass cheeks.

“F-Fuck! Sebastian!”

His fingers tangled in chestnut hair, but Sebastian continued unbothered. He lapped at Anders’ hole, tongue flicking over the sensitive rim as if he did this daily. Anders was practically weeping in arousal, trying to push up against Sebastian’s mouth but hindered by his position.  
_The tongue of a Chantry brother should not be able to do such sinful things._

“That’s enough, Sebastian.”

Anders was left on the floor in a daze when Sebastian scrambled back. The brother stood, the tent in his robes unmistakable, but made no move to even tocuh it. Instead he watched Anders where he lay like he was a particularly gorgeous banquet set out, and Sebastian had been starved for a week. A starved man who knew he wasn’t allowed to touch.

Anders’ eyes were still locked on the disheveled sight his lover made when he found himself lifted. His eyes darted around to see Fenris, face not betraying an emotion, cradling Anders against his chest.

_Fuck.  
Fuck, fuck fuck- He wasn’t supposed to let Sebastian do this while drunk. He just betrayed his lover’s trust just because he was weak to temptation after all. He always thought he was good at saying no to what he shouldn’t have-_

He was put down on Fenris’ favourite arm chair, the old worn velvet prickly against his ass. Sebastian just walked back into his view when he realised Fenris was kneeling down before him, hooking his knees over his shoulders.

“F-Fenris? What- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, what are you- ah!” He arched, this time able to press his ass up closer as another hot tongue poked into his hole.  
_This was not what he had expected either._

“Fenris will finish what ah started now,” Sebastian promised lowly, watching with a hunger that almost scared Anders. Almost scared him, but it turned him on too much to be truly afraid. “Ah just wanted to give ye the love ye deserve, Anders. Ah am sorry for always holding ye’back.”

“B-but you don’t-” He reached out for the man, only to cry out at the feeling of one lyrium lined finger pressing inside of him to the knuckle. He quickly grabbed the white hair between his legs for support, panting as his head fell back again.

He felt a hand push back the hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and then a tender kiss.

“Ah told ye, we’d teach ye not to come home this late, Anders? We warned ye.”

_This wasn’t going to teach him anything, he was sure._


	24. Kitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: Petplay  
> Warnings: Dubcon

“Here kitty kitty.”

Anders face was burning in humiliation, but he obeyed the command nonetheless. He was just grateful that Isabela wasn’t around, because she would never let this go.  
There was still a risk that Merrill would blabber all of this on to the pirate, but he could at least hope she wouldn’t find out.

Hawke look mortified. Merrill confused.

Fenris just reached up, waiting for him to lean down so the elf could pet his hair.

“Who’s a good kitty? You are, yes you are.”  
The most horrid thing was the deadpan voice in which Fenris delivered his very own lines. Tone completely flat, making Anders shudder in horror even as he remained stock still for the elf to pet him.

This would sure teach him to taunt Fenris. Especially if he was about to lose a very stupid bet.  
_Was one escaped mage not being a blood mage really too much to ask?_

“I…think I just changed my mind about going out of Kirkwall today.” Hawke laughed awkwardly, grabbing Merrill’s wrist to drag her closer, wide horrified on Fenris and Anders. “Just go home and uh, have fun. Bye!”

Merrill was questioning his change of mind as they left, but Anders was more than a little grateful. It was bad enough that he had to do this, but the thought of having had to trudge all the way down to the Wounded Coast like this - and back - was not really a pleasant one. Now they could at least keep the remainder of this humiliation indoors-

Anders squeaked at the sudden grope of his butt, sharp gauntlets digging into soft flesh where Fenris had cupped him.  
“You did as you were told. Good kitty.”

Anders ducked his head, refusing to look Fenris in the eyes.  
_Yes, he’d done what he was told. Another reason he was happy not to walk all the way to the Wounded Coast._

“Let’s go shopping.”

“Shopping?” His voice broke in his shock, and he stumbled his first step when he tried to rush after Fenris. “Why? Hawke told us to go home, can’t we just-”

“You have no collar. Uncollared cats get caught and killed in Hightown.”

Anders swallowed, paling.  
Of course nobody would actually catch and kill him like a cat, Hightown or not, but Fenris’ words meant the elf took this completely seriously. Meaning Anders would _really_  be stuck having to walk around like this - tail, ears and soon a collar - the rest of the day.  
_This was too humiliating_.

“Y-you can’t be serious… Fenris, really-”

“You’d rather be doing something else?”

And just as suddenly, Anders was dragged into an alleyway, pinned against the wall by an elf a head shorter than he was.  
He felt ridiculous. But that may also be the fluffy ears perked up on top of his head.

“I-I F-Fenris-”

“Of course, cats don’t like collars, do they?”

Fenris grabbed the collar of Anders’ robes, pulling him down to meet him in a harsh kiss. Anders felt dizzy for a moment, the forcefulness overwhelming him. _They were just a few steps into an alleyway_.

To make it worse, Fenris unceremoniously shoved his hand up the back of Anders’ coat, gauntlets scratching bare skin while he maneuvered his hand down Anders’ pants. He gave a sharp tug on the tail lodged in Anders’ ass, and the mage squeaked.

“You’d rather be playing like this, instead of getting a collar?”

“W-were in public- Fenris _anyone can see us here-_ ”

Fenris grinned against his lips, and Anders was pretty sure he was going to get dizzy again. Even if he really shouldn’t be swooning over the guy humiliating him right now.

“So we get a collar. Then we can return home and we can play.”

The hand was extracted from his pants and Fenris stepped back from him, still grinning that infuriating grin.

“Come along kitty. Be good for daddy now.” 


	25. Bites and kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: Angry sex  
> Warnings: Blue balls

Hawke was the luckiest man in all of Thedas.

Or in the very least, he was currently watching the most erotic display in all of Thedas, and it was happening about the width of a hand above the wet tip of his very hard cock.

Yeah, he counted himself the luckiest man in all of Thedas for that, alright.

Two pairs of his very favourite lips, locked together in a heated kiss. Right over his erection.

Fenris and Anders may have their differences, but they could kiss like their lives depended on it. All lips and teeth and fingers tugging on blond and white hair; caresses exchanged with a need that made Hawke ache, but never too violent, never too cruel. They were caresses as must as they were demands; just like their kisses were demands for _more_ and _now_ and _give me your all_.

And Andraste’s tits, did they give their all.

It was Anders who had to pull back for breath first. It was usually Anders. Poor mage didn’t have the stamina to match his warrior lovers on that.

Not that they ever had anything to complain about, when it came to Anders’ stamina. Even if he was short of breath, he would just _keep going_ and he had repeatedly proven that Warden Stamina was really a thing by wringing Hawke and Fenris dry completely.

But he would still be the first one out of breath, the first one who wouldn’t be able to keep up in strength. He would pull back first, or sag into the loving – heated – care of his lovers and let them fuck him silly as they pleased. It was a win-win, really.

The moan drawn from deep down in Anders’ throat when he pulled free from Fenris’ lips made Hawke’s cock twitch – a detail that didn’t go unnoticed.

Anders was panting, glancing down while he tried to catch his breath, but Fenris was already smirking. Hardly broke a sweat, too. So he was the one who got to him first.

Hawke gasped as kiss swollen lips engulfed the tip of him. Fenris didn’t take him deep, but the way green flashed up to meet his eyes and dark cheeks hollowed was more than enough to make Hawke’s head roll back, a deep guttural moan escaping him.

Fenris released him soon enough, moving to kiss down the side. Hawke was in luck though, he didn’t need to feel the other side of his cock grown cold. The other set of those sinful lips attached there, with a brush of stubble before the kisses mirrored Fenris’.

They moved in sync, like they had practiced this very thing for Hawke’s pleasure. Just like they moved in battle, perfectly aligned, a deadly dance of blade and fire.

Just like that – hot breath, sharp teeth and tantalising pleasure – the flick of a tongue around the edge of the thick, swollen cockhead, immediately followed by a similar flick from the other side. Teeth grazing ever so lightly down the side of his cock, both sides, perfectly in time. A nuzzle at the base, a hot breath on his balls – then a light jolt and the touch of Anders disappeared for barely a second.

Nothing Hawke would mind. There was a tongue working his balls now and it was soon followed by a second, and if he would die like this he’d be happy.

Another small jolt and a low huff now, and Hawke’s toes were curling in pleasure. Two pairs of lips migrated back up, zigzagging to get all the bits they missed so far – and another jolt and a quiet growl now.

Hawke’s eyes flickered open to watch his lovers just in time to see Fenris bump against Anders. But those sinful lips were still on him, and Hawke didn’t start worrying until Anders physically shouldered Fenris aside so he had the space to suck Hawke’s cock into his mouth.

His breath hitched and he moaned, even as the alarm bells started to go off in his head. Fenris was scowling, pushing himself upright from where he had fallen over – their position on the bed was never as stable as the elf liked – and before Hawke could full and well register what was going on, one lyrium lined hand dug into blond hair and _yanked_.

Anders released with a small cry of pain, reaching up for his head while Fenris tossed him aside with an ease that was embarrassingly _casual_. As Anders fell away, Fenris pounced.

This was trouble. Such trouble and _fuck Fenris knew how to suck cock though._

Hawke yelped when Fenris was dragged back, falling flat on his belly when Anders tore him away by his hips. Knowing exactly where this was going, Hawke scrambled backwards to press against the headboard, getting his dick out of danger.

And just in time, because Fenris grabbed Anders by his hair once more, pulling him backwards so the mage’s back arched painfully, limbs flailing for purchase around him.

Hawke should probably intervene… but he didn’t want all this anger to be directed at him and he doubted this animosity would last. Not with them both hard enough to leak and _perhaps Anders managing to unfold a leg from underneath him to kick Fenris in the chin was a bad sign-_

There was a serious scuffle for a moment, angry growling and huffs and then Anders was pinned down to the bed, wrists on either side of his head and hips straddled. He kicked his legs, rapping his knees up against Fenris’ back until the elf grunted and gave Anders a good shake.

“Fenris, you should-”

Hawke stopped his intervention abruptly when those lips crashed together once more, teeth clicking audibly and dangerous warning growls that made them sounds like animals, but Anders stopped fighting and melted under his warrior elf, and well…

Hawke sank back against the headboard, watching the scene go from violent back to passionate. And with a sigh and a pout, he took himself in hand.

He doubted he’d be getting more of those mouths tonight, anyway.


	26. Monday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Anders/Templar, beginning Fenders  
> Kinks: non-con  
> Warnings: Non-con

Anders sighed when he saw who was in front of his clinic.

Was it that day already? The weeks passed too fast, the days of these visits always too soon, too short after another.

He gestured at the patients waiting, telling them wordlessly it would take a while longer before the clinic would open. The Templar was allowed in, like they always were.

It wasn’t a matter of choice, after all.

Anders sighed again – deeply, wearily – closing the door properly before crossing to the first of the cots.

“Just you, today?”

“Just me,” the Templar confirmed, an impatient edge to his voice.

Impatient already, like he hadn’t just gotten in.

“I’d offer you a cup of tea like a good host, but I suppose you don’t have the patience for that,” Anders joked, hands coming up to work open his coat. “And I don’t have anything but elfroot tea anyway. I bet a big man like you prefers something stronger, am I right?”

“Stop chattering and get on with it.”

“Woke up hard, did you?” He gave the Templar a knowing look, and the man scowled. “You should’ve just taken one of the Circle mages. Would’ve saved you the trouble of coming all the way down here.”

His coat was tossed over the next cot, his breeches following soon after. He left his boots where he had kicked them off, simply leaning over the cot before him and offering up his ass. Like a good mage.

“I like your ass better, Healer.”

A sharp slap landed on Anders ass, and he hissed. When he glanced over his shoulder to scowl though, he saw the Templar was upset.

“Ah, I see. You got reprimanded and aren’t allowed to be alone with any of the mages are you? Such a _hard_ life you have.”

He jumped when a second, even harder slap followed. He was about to protest the rough treatment when his ass was grabbed in both hands, tips of the steel gauntlets digging into warm skin. He braced himself just in time for when the Templar thrust in roughly, quite literally tearing his way inside.

“ _Fuck-!_ ”

Anders barely managed to bite down a shout of pain, instead biting his tongue hard. _That hurt even more. Good._

With a deep breath he managed to steel himself, casting a healing spell over his tongue and his asshole to mend the damage done. Skin remade itself around the thick girth of the Templar even as he kept thrusting inside, and Anders added a spell to strongly increase the creation of mucus there. Not the best lubricant, but the only one he could make without having to reach down there with a hand and disturbing the Templar.

“Heh. You should really come to the Circle and teach that spell to the mages there. You’re the only self-lubricating mage I’ve ever met.” The Templar shuttled his hips forward to ram in hard, pulling at Anders’ hips to stay pressed in deeply for a moment, making the mage squirm in pain. “Not even the women do. Their vaginas are as dry as a man’s arse, unlike the whores at the Rose. Worthless mages.” He barked out a laugh before starting to thrust again, setting a fast pace.

“You’re the wettest whore around though. No hole is quite like yours.”

If only he could tell the Templar to just _shut up_. As long as he was talking, he wasn’t anywhere near his orgasm. Anders wanted this to be over and done with, not listen to the demeaning talk to top it all off. He had things to do today- there had been a lot of patients in front of the door waiting!

But he couldn’t just say it. There was no question about whether the Templar would get angry, and if he were punished he would no longer be free to run his clinic down here.

_No longer free to fight together with Hawke either. No longer free to quarrel and kiss with Fenris._

He gasped, suddenly shaking as his thoughts dwelled to Fenris.

Quarrel and kiss with the elf. He wondered why Fenris never took his due like this. Perhaps he didn’t know he could, with the Templar order being so different in Tevinter.

An even stranger thought: he kinda _wanted_ Fenris to take his due. _That was a first._

Anders groaned at a particular hard thrust, his legs spreading a little wider for comfort, his shoulders rolling as he got tense – and suddenly the Templar froze.

Anders froze immediately in turn, eyes widening in alarm. _Had he done something wrong?_

A low, wet gurgle and the heavy, metal hands fell away from his hips, followed by the thick cock sliding out of him. For a moment Anders didn’t dare to move, but then he heard the sickening crunch of bones and he whirled around to see.

_The bright scent of lyrium smacked him in the face like the smoke of a potent drug._

It took him a few seconds to take in the sight.

Fenris, brands lit brightly.

The Templar, engorged cock out of his armour, but otherwise still completely hidden except for the blood now bubbling from his helmet.

_Fenris with his hand deep inside the Templar’s body, muscles of his arms working as he was visibly torturing the man right where they stood._

“Fenris!”

Dark eyes flashed to him, and then the Templar was discarded to the side as nonchalantly as an unwanted rag doll. Fenris stepped closer and Anders tumbled back, his calves hitting the cot and causing him to topple backwards.

He spread his legs instinctively, hoping the blood on his thighs wouldn’t put Fenris off. Hoping it would spur on the elf’s bloodlust. He had no idea why Fenris was here, but _this was trouble_.

“What are you _doing_ , mage?”

Anders spluttered, following Fenris’ pointed look down at his crotch. The horrified look on Fenris’ face, and Anders wasn’t sure why. The blood? The fact that Anders wasn’t hard like a good mage should be? He didn’t have a clue-

He was startled yet again by a sheet being tossed over him, covering his naked lower body. The same breath of surprise, Fenris was on his knees, drawing him upright into a tight hug.

“F-Fenris? What are you- what’s going on?”

“ _What’s going on?_ Shouldn’t _I_ be the one asking that?”

Fenris sounded angry, and yet his embrace just tightened. No violence.

“I- what? You just murdered a Templar in my clinic! You have any idea what trouble you just got me in?!”

“Anders!”

He was thrust out at arm’s length, wide green eyes full of horror. “Who was that Templar?”

“What? How should I know?”

“You were just getting _raped_ by him and you have no idea? Why did you let him!”

“Raped? Fenris, he’s a Templar!”

Fenris’ eyes told him he didn’t understand, and Anders shook his head, sighing exasperatedly.

“Fenris. I’m a mage. This is normal. ‘Magic is to serve man’ and all that shit, remember?”

His shoulders were slowly released, and Fenris rocked back on his heels, still looking as horrified as before.

“…truly?”

Anders nodded, uncertain now. Why was Fenris looking like that? Why was his face twisting like he was about to throw up?

He watched Fenris get up on wobbly legs, and the elf left without a word. Sounds from outside the clinic confirmed that Fenris got ill, but Anders could just sit and wonder.

_This was just what he did for protection. This was just what he did for freedom._

_Had he been wrong?_


	27. Edging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Sebanders  
> Kinks: Edging  
> Warnings: None

Anders was so close he could _taste_  it. The tingling in his extremities that felt more like they were going numb by now that anything else, the heat like he was on fire in his crotch - _so perfect, so close_  - it was driving him insane-

It was driving him insane that he _knew_  what was coming next.

His toes curled, his fingers scratching at the robes of the one leaned over him, his breathing already short and desperate but now stuttering to a halt-  
_The tight clench of fingers around the base of his cock_ , drawing a cry of agony from his throat.

He was seeing stars - but he had so since the second time Sebastian cut him off so cruelly.  
The worst part was that Sebastian had a much finer control over Anders’ body than he would ever have expected. He would tease him right up to a hair’s breadth of orgasm and then clamped down, not a second too soon nor too late.  
He knew exactly how to drive Anders mad.

He whimpered and struggled under Sebastian, but the archer wouldn’t budge. There was barely any strength left in Anders anyway; he felt stretched out to the limit. Brittle and on the edge of breaking in a thousand little pieces in a strong hand with a firm grip.

“That’s it. There ya go.”  
Sebastian’s soothing voice only served to make Anders sob, his face already wet with tears from this torture. His hips were bucking, but Sebastian had no trouble moving along. If there was any friction to be had, it was not from the hand squeezing his orgasm back down into him.

“S-Sebastian-”  
Anders voice was small, begging. His fingers dug into Sebastian’s back once more, but the damnable Chantry robes protected dark skin from being ritten open by blunt nails.

“Y’re doin’ fine, Anders. Jus’ a little longer.”

Another sob broke from Anders lips, but he somehow managed to force his hips back down; slowly, shaking as he rested his ass back down on the cot. Sebastian hummed in approval and the grip on his cock loosened until it was pleasant once more.  
As pleasant as a hand could get now he was so sensitive, it felt like he was stripped from layers of skin wherever Sebastian touched him. Hurting, stinging, _and yet he couldn’t get enough of it_.  
And Sebastian gave him exactly what he wanted, starting to stroke his length again, torturously slow. The kind of slow stroke you used when you just started, just as a warm-up. The kind of slowness you would forego quickly enough for a steadier, faster pace full of need.  
Sebastian didn’t speed.  
It was a miracle his arm wasn’t aching terribly yet.

“S-Sebastian, please, just-”

“Shhh, Anders. Y’can hold on a little longer. Ah know y’can.”

“I-it’s too much- Sebastian _please_  let me- just let me-”

Sebastian leaned over him, apparently not bothered by how he was sobbing, a snotty, tearful mess. A chaste kiss was placed on his forehead, just a small gesture for comfort.

“Jus’ a little longer, Anders.”

He felt like he had been turned inside out and his nerves were on fire with desire and _Sebastian_. And he was still wearing the Blighted Chantry robes and looking entirely composed, save perhaps the flush on his cheeks and the mischievous smile gracing his lips.

So he cried, and held on a little longer, clinging for dear life as Sebastian slowly worked him up to the next near-orgasm he would not be allowed to have.  
Anders had long lost count, and he had no doubt an orgasm now would be pure agony.  
It was torture.

_And it was the best of torture his lover could’ve bestowed on him._


	28. Stealing crushes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Canders  
> Kinks: Jealousy  
> Warnings: (sexual) harassment  
> Also, do not follow Carver's example. This is not what you should do in their situation.

“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

Carver head turned so fast to look at his brother he felt something pop in his neck. He gaped - no  _glared_  - making a blunt questioning noise. Because he couldn’t really find words.  
Because he knew exactly who Gale was talking about. Who else could it be than the one Carver was developing a crush on?

“Too bad he doesn’t have much  _ass_  to speak of.” Gale mimed smoothing his hand over a rounded bum before him in the air, eyes clearly fixed on the backside of their  _topic_. “But who knows, that may be just the coat obscuring the view. I bet he’d look fine bent over.”

“You wouldn’t  _dare_ ,” Carver spoke low, menacingly. But of course Gale would dare.  
In fact, Carver probably just invited him to try, with those words. He really wanted to hit himself when he saw the gleam of a challenge accepted in his brother’s eyes.

“He likes me,” Gale pointed out. “You don’t stand a chance, Carver. You keep moping at him and it puts him off. _I_ only have to show up in his clinic and he drops everything he was doing to tag along. Like a puppy.”

“He’ll resent that,” Carver grumbled under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. His brother was completely right of course. Whenever Anders would speak to him, it would be about mage freedom. Like he had nothing else to say to Carver. But he rarely even broached the topic with Gale - not that it mattered much. Carver got annoyed by the speeches, but Gale was outright rude when Anders tried.  
And yet, the mage did exactly what Gale wanted him to do. Every time they arrived at the clinic, he was ready to come along. One time Gale had been in a hurry and Anders had all but begged for him to wait. It had made Carver feel like he just swallowed a rock; cold and heavy on his stomach and his throat closed up painfully. All  _he_  had received was a fleeting glance, and then the apostate was all but blushing up at Gale for his acquiescence, so happy he could join.

Actually Anders seemed to even like their  _dog_  more. He’d come all the way to visit in Gamlen’s hovel when Gale wasn’t even home. He had been so disappointed he’d talked to the dog rather than Carver.  
Until Gale suddenly returned, of course. Then he had made quick small talk before beating a hasty retreat, like a shy maiden.

And even now he glanced around, his eyes barely passing over Carver and flashing a quick smile to Gale.  
Gale grinned and Anders quickly turned to look forward again, visibly embarrassed at being caught looking.  _He was crushing so hard even Carver could see it._

“I’ll just take a room in the Hanged Man tonight,” Gale growled, licking his lips like he had a particularly tasty meal laid out before him.  
Carver felt his insides go cold, and he looked at Gale in outrage.  _The bloody tit really was serious!_

“You don’t even like him!”

“You don’t  _have_  to like someone to enjoy a good fuck with them, my dear little brother.” Gale was chuckling and Carver felt like punching him.  
Maybe he should. But Anders would never forgive him.  
Then again, would Anders really be better off with Gale fucking him and the leaving him like a cheap whore? Should he allow his brother to trample all over the mage’s feelings like that?

Carver bit his lip hard, staring down at his boots.  _He had no business trying to stop them._ If Anders liked Gale that much, he should be allowed to get this chance. It would be the only thing he’d get out of Gale, and he should decide whether he wanted it.  
It was none of Carver’s business.  
It just made him feel nauseous, thinking of his brother fucking his crush from right under his nose  _again_. And that was the only reason Gale even did it.

...

The moment his brother had left the room - following after Anders who left mere seconds earlier - Carver had started drinking. Fast.  
Isabela was the only one cheering him on, even after he finished everyone’s drinks for them. The worst part was that everyone knew exactly what Gale and Anders were up to now, be it because they left so suspiciously short after another, or because of Carver’s sudden need to get drunk.

At least, until he spotted his brother stomping by angrily,clearly in a hurry to get out of the tavern and go beat something - or someone - up. He had walked too fast to really see, but Carver could’ve sworn he had been clenching a bloody nose shut.  
Carver was up on his feet in a flash, his chair hitting the floor behind him loudly. He swayed for a moment before stumbling off to find whichever room Gale had taken Anders to, not even hearing the questions of his friends.

Anders was easy enough to find; just follow the string of muffled curses and the splashing of water.  
Carver stepped into the still open door, spotting the mage scrubbing the bottom half of his face furiously in the bowl of water on the dresser.

_If Gale hurt him he was going to kill his own brother-_

“C-Carver!”  
Carver swayed again as he managed to close the door behind him, shocked to see the surprise and shame in Anders’ eyes. He rushed forward - as well as it went with him tripping over his own feet - and quickly enveloped Anders in a tight hug, pulling him to his chest.

“Did he hurt you? Should I kill’im? I’m gonna hurt him so bad for using y’r feelings against you like that, I swear-!”

“Carver, wait!”  
Before Carver could pull away and make true to his words, he was grabbed with two lanky mage arms around his waist. As thin as Anders was, he had surprising strength in those arms.  
“Don’t kill him. He’s your brother, and he didn’t really hurt me anyway. He just... took me by surprise, kissing me all of a sudden. I was sure he didn’t like me.”

Blame it on being drunk, but Carver was more aware of the tickle of Anders’ hair against the nape of his neck and the warm breath against his skin than the words being spoken. He was  _definitely_  more aware of how that was getting him hard awkwardly fast, and how close Anders was.

“Besides, I don’t know what you thought he used against me, but he was just pretending to need a healer to lure me in here. There’s no other way he’d have gotten me in a room with him.”

“Wait.. wha-?” Carver’s jaw nearly dropped, trying to comprehend what he just heard.  _Not an easy task._ “I thought you  _liked_ Gale!”

“What? Like him?” Anders snorted, and was definitely burying his face in Carver’s shoulder now.  _Adorable_. He was also trembling a little, though whether it was in embarrassment or an after effect of being harassed just now, Carver didn’t know. “I don’t  _like_  Gale anymore than I like Templars, Carver. I just put up with him because he’s useful, and I get to be close to-”  
He cut himself off so suddenly Carver almost felt hope.

“Close to...?”

“You know your brother is probably the biggest asshole I ever met? And I’ve met some assholes, let me tell you, I’ve know about all Templars in the Circle and they-”

“Close to what, Magey?”

Anders stopped, and pressed his face that little bit harder against Carver’s neck.  _It was perfect_. 

“Close to you, of course,” the mage finally muttered, clearly embarrassed. “I know you don’t like mages and I’m not sure if I can blame you, having a brother like bloody Gale, but a man can hope, right?”

And that was really all Carver had to hear for that stone of dread in his stomach to surge.  
His jealousy - so carefully fed by his brother at everything he did - was all but forgotten. He thrust Anders out at arm’s length, regarded the wide, gold eyes for a moment, before crashing their lips together.

...and splitting his lip on Anders’ teeth.  
But Maker’s balls, he didn’t care. Not with the taste of Anders on his tongue and the feel of long lean arms wrapping around him.  
Not with the way Anders managed to soften the kiss into something less sloppy, rather than pulling away or punching him a bloody nose like he had Gale.

Not with how this mage took his breath away.  
_Never._


	29. Sore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Mouthy Brat  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: Edging, D/s  
> Warnings: None

Fenris found himself stopped by an imperious finger being held up in front of his face.  
A rare occurrence, to say the least. He blinked, eyes crossing slightly as he tried to focus incredulously on the finger right in front of his nose. Anders  _never_  stopped him. The mage was  _always_  eager to be enveloped in his arms and ravaged. Being stopped was... well, unheard of.

But he still stopped, arms halfway outstretched, his hands hovering over the mage’s bottom where they had been ready to grab and squeeze.

“Not today, I think.”  
Anders voice was cold in a way that didn’t suit him at all. Fenris quickly glanced back up at the mage’s face, surprised to see the furrow of his brows, the downturned corners of his lips.  
When there was a light twitch in his face to betray a smile, Fenris finally relaxed back, hands dropping to his sides.

“I’m still sore. I don’t want you to touch me now. Or actually...” Anders gave him a once-over, making Fenris shudder in anticipation. “Actually I want to be in control today. I’m not in the mood for more pain, but I don’t want to heal this either. So you’ll let me take the lead so I can be careful and not hurt more.”

Fenris licked his suddenly dry lips, nodding wordlessly.  
Anders never took control. He never seemed to have the desire to do so before. And while Fenris felt no desire to relinquish control in the bedroom... it was different now, after the time they’d been together. He surprised even himself with the eager coiling of heat in his belly at the idea of the mage ordering him around now.  
The mere thought would’ve made him feel sick before, but now... no, not anymore. Anders had given him -  _them_  - everything, and he knew he could trust him as completely as Anders trusted him in return. The mage would not go too far; or he would stop if he did. Fenris knew that.

“Will you use the same safeword as usually?”

Fenris nodded initially, but when Anders quirked his eyebrows expectantly he managed to croak a response.  
“Yes. Yes I will.”

“Then strip and lay down.”

The order was given in the same cold voice as Anders had been speaking in, no hint to excitement or glee. No gloating nor pride. A cold, calculating order that made Fenris shudder and obey, unsure what he was getting himself into.  
He suddenly regretted trying to initiate anything before Hawke got home.

By the time he had peeled off his leggings and shirt and settled on the bed, Anders had carefully situated himself in a plush chair across the room. Fenris noted his lover had taken an extra pillow to sit on, confirming he’d been serious when he said he was still too sore. What most took his attention was Anders having pulled out his dick though, now lazily stroking himself while he watched Fenris.

“Put your hands over your head. There’s a nice ridge in the headboard you can hold onto- yes, right there.” Anders gave him a small smirk, finally dropping the cold exterior he’d put on. “I won’t tie you up, Fenris; but I expect you to be obedient and keep your hands there anyway. Release the headboard and this game is over. I’ll march right out of here and have a nice, relaxing bath and I won’t touch you nor speak to you until morning. Understood?”

Fenris nodded breathlessly, fingers curling around the ridge he’d been made to hold. Anders did the same quirk of his eyebrows, making Fenris lick his dry lips once more to bring out a verbal reply.  
“Yes. Understood.”

“Good.”  
Anders calmly stroked himself, fingers wrapped around his hardening cock. Aside from that, he made no movement to get up and touch Fenris, nor to tease him in any other way. There was nothing for Fenris to do but to look at the way the human cock was growing harder, emerging from its soft nest of blond curls and erecting into the grip of those talented, slender fingers.  
He had already been aroused. It was why he had come to Anders here, attempted to embrace him - his cock half hard in his leggings as he’d spent a little too much time remembering his lovers’ sweet noises on his way back home.  
Anders’ calm little display sure wasn’t helping him.

Fenris shifted on the bed restlessly, fingers tightening and relaxing over the ridge on the headboard. Anders seemed wholly unimpressed by Fenris growing more and more aroused on the bed, only paying his own erection the languid attention of a man who had all the time in the world.  
Fingers swiping over the head delicately, bringing a thin glistening trail of precum down with them. Anders had not used any sort of lubrication, but he was going too slow, too lazy to really need any. It was just the dry friction of a pumping hand, no slide nor faster movements as he got hungrier.

_Fenris wished he could provide that now._

He shifted again, biting his lip to keep from making some embarrassing, needy sound.  _He_  wasn’t the one making the wanton sounds in this relationship. That was Anders, and Anders alone. And if perhaps some little noises tore from his throat in the midst of passion, nobody would know. Anders would be moaning right over them, after all.  
He would not make needy sounds watching Anders touching himself so lazily.

But he felt terribly needy nonetheless.  
Anders was paying him no attention whatsoever, and it made him ache all the more. Every stroke was not enough, just too shallow, just too weak. He could feel the echo of those languid strokes on his own cock and they were  _not enough._  If Anders would not touch him but  _at least_  touch himself properly, this would not be as torturous as it was.  
His fingers clenched over the ridge, tightening their grip to remind him to hold on.  
To remind him he couldn’t let go and touch himself; or veer upright and pouncing on his mage.

Anders was well-versed in this type of torture, it seemed.

By the time Hawke finally came home, Fenris’ cock was red and leaking and his breath shallow and desperate, his eyes no longer capable to properly focus on the scene before him.  
How Anders got him worked up like this with so little effort, he didn’t know, nor wanted to know.

“Hawke, you’re back!” Anders purred pleased, releasing his erection and easing himself out of the chair to hug their boyfriend. Hawke was looking bewildered at best, eyes flashing from Anders’ clothed state with his hard dick standing proud, to Fenris’ naked and desperate clinging to the headboard of the bed.

“Did I miss something?”  
He returned Anders’ hug carefully, and Fenris almost groaned in anger when Hawke made no attempt to feel Anders up. Too careful for Fenris’ current state of mind.

“You did,” Anders agreed with a chuckle. “Why don’t you sit down and watch what you were missing out on? I think I’m just going to play with Fenris a bit, he seems to be really desperate and I haven’t even touched him yet.”

Fenris wanted to shout at Hawke not to do it, but clearly the Champion was too confused by the scene he found to disobey an order that was formulated as such a mild request.  
Hawke took the seat Anders just vacated, absentmindedly pushing the extra pillow to the side as he watched Anders crawl up on the bed to straddle Fenris.  
To Fenris himself, Hawke was quickly forgotten.

Suddenly it was all Anders; his nose filled with the musky scent of his lover’s crotch, the cooling skin of his shoulders heated by the mage’s inner thighs.  
There was the rasp of wiry hair on soft, pliant skin to his chin and then lips, and for a moment Fenris’ hands released their death grip on the headboard,  _needing_  to hold Anders’ hips to hold him close. He remembered himself just in time, grabbing the wooden ledge again and earning nothing but a mild tutting from his lover.  
Nothing worse than that, thank the Maker.

Fenris tongue flicked out to wrap around Anders’ balls, licking first the one and then the other, his neck stretching to be able to suck his lover’s pliant sack into his mouth.  
Anders magnanimously lowered himself a little further on his knees, allowing Fenris to do as he pleased with his mouth. He took advantage by sucking both balls into his mouth, sucking them and rolling them with his tongue, tasting the combination of musk and soap and that hint of elfroot that Anders seemed to carry everywhere on his skin.

Fingers carded through his hair and Anders praised him with small cooing sounds that made him feel dizzy with want. Fenris’ hips bucked with hunger for stimulation, but no such thing was granted.  
At least he had his lover’s taste in his mouth, finally able to take control and speed this thing up. He had no patience for Anders’ long-winded game anymore.  
And yet he did not hurry it further, his hands clinging to the headboard as truly as if they had been bound, his mouth working in heated suction over Anders’ balls as the mage allowed him to without trying for more. Just this, what he was given, in his own tempo of hunger.  
He’d devour Anders if he was given the chance right now.

“F-Fenris...”

Fenris whimpered plaintively under Anders at the quiet moan that fell from his lips. He increased his efforts, even if it was barely possible at this point. His tongue was already rubbed raw against the wiry hair and yet he continued with an unrelenting desperation, feeling how Anders took hold of his erection once more to pump it.  
The brush of knuckles against his forehead was light, but enough to tell Fenris the movements were far from languid now. Anders was joining him in his desperation, this hunger for stimulation that Fenris wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before. He was aching and hard and leaking, and if the quality of the bed had been any lower he would’ve torn the headboard clean off by now.

“Fenris... yes...”

He moaned around his mouth full, his hips bucking at each sound Anders made -  _each sound Hawke made across the room, the wet noises of slick skin against skin telling them he’d joined in beating himself off at the sight -_ and all of a sudden he felt Anders’ legs clenching around him, squeezing his shoulders tight.  
With a gasp and a moan from his lover, Fenris felt the hot splatter of cum on his face, thin streams of it running over his lips where it dripped down Anders’ length. His eyes peeked open for just a moment to see the stains on Anders’ shirt where he’d hit himself, watching more bubble from the tip to run down his now slick cock.  
Fenris licked hungrily, devouring all he could get as it seeped down, ignoring he drops that hit his cheeks and nose instead. And his eagerness was rewarded when Anders pulled up, drawing his balls from Fenris’ mouth to offer him his cock to suck instead.  
Fenris cleaned it off with long swipes of his tongue, enjoying the way the mage kept petting his hair, the soft encouraging sounds starting again.

“That’s good... you’ve been very good Fenris. Very, very good.”

Fenris whined plaintively when Anders finally pulled away, moving off the bed while the elf licked his lips to get as much as he could from what he’d missed.  
Surely he would get the attention he craved now. Surely Anders would touch him now that he’d been so good, now that he’d waited so long-

Fenris’ jaw dropped as Anders sauntered over to Hawke, batting the man’s hand away from where he was stroking himself furiously to kneel before him and lean in, taking the thick length of their lover in his mouth.

Hawke’s length.  
Not Fenris’.

_Fenris was suddenly painfully aware of all the sadism the mage had to return to Fenris after all their past bouts. And he was momentarily regretting it now, even if he was going to do all of it all over again after this._


	30. Not hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: All ages  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: Tickling  
> Warnings: Tickle-death

Everything seemed fine right up to the moment Anders slid his hand down Fenris’ side.

“What-”

Anders scrambled back in surprise as Fenris flew upright, batting Anders’ hand away. Fenris’ eyes were wide in shock, but Anders was pretty sure  _he_ should be the  shocked one here.

“What did I do? Did I hurt you?”

And just like that, Fenris got embarrassed. He hid it well in his expression, suddenly flat and bored, but the bright blush on the tip of his ears were a dead give-away.

What exactly they were giving away, Anders did not know.

“Nothing. You simply startled me touching me like that. I thought you said you were a cuddler?”

“Yes,” Anders responded slowly, “which is what I was doing: cuddling.”

Fenris scoffed as he settled back down, drawing Anders back against his naked chest.  _His delicious naked chest._  “That was barely to be called cuddling, mage. You were petting me like an animal. I do not appreciate it.”

“Not like an animal,” Anders spluttered, pressing closer and sliding his hand back around Fenris’ waist. He felt muscles tense immediately, even though he just wanted to wrap his arm around his new lover. “Touching you like lovers do. Caressing you because I like you. These are not touches I would inflict on an innocent animal.”

“Lovers?” Fenris echoed uncertainly.

“Don’t you agree?” Anders moved his hand, stroking Fenris lightly again to illustrate his point, only the find the elf immediately jumping and writhing away from his hand.

Like the touch hurt, although he claimed it didn’t.

Or perhaps like Fenris was…

“Are you  _ticklish_?”

“No!”

Anders grinned. The answer too fast, too vehement. He slid his fingers lightly down Fenris’ side and once more the lithe body squirmed away from the touch, this time accompanied with a snort of alarm.

“You  _are_  ticklish! Fenris the mighty warrior is ticklish!”

“I am not, mage! Now cease thi- _iiis_!!”

There was no escaping now. Before Fenris could react Anders had twisted on top of him, straddling his thighs and pinning the elf in place. His hands were immediately on both narrow, toned sides and he  _squeezed_.

He was pretty sure he had never felt this much musculature on a waist before, but it had the desired result regardless. Fenris all but screeched, writhing and grabbing for Anders’ wrists.

He knew his warrior lover would not let go if he caught him, so that was all the more reason for Anders to dodge the grabbing hands and go for the waist again. Fenris squirmed beneath him, laughter bubbling from his throat unbidden. He failed to catch Anders’ wrists no matter how many times he tried, until Anders finally took pity on his elf when he was breathless from laughter and curling up.

Anders could only wonder if he would be able to get Fenis to beg for mercy, but no doubt it was too early for that in their newborn relationship. He’d have to try again later.

“I never expected you to be ticklish, of all people.”

Anders was grinning and Fenris  _tried_  to scowl.“

"You will tell nobody of this, mage.”

Anders smirked now, patting the beautiful naked chest beneath him. “And share this glorious knowledge? Like Void I am. You’re all mine now.”

And after that, Anders would just have to wonder if the blush was about the tickling or his claim on the elf.

He kinda hoped the latter, of course.


	31. Silly drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: All ages  
> Pairing: Alistair/Anders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

“My, Ser Warden, what big arms you have~”

“The better I can lift you with, my dear.”

And just like that, Anders found himself lifted up into the air, suddenly looking down on a grinning Alistair from much further above.

“My, Ser Warden, what a hard chest you have~”

“The better I can crush you against in a hug, my dear.”

Alistair laughed brightly while tightening the hug, and Anders would swoon at the mere sound. Alistair laughed like freedom. Alistair smiled like love. Alistair’s lips were true happiness.

“My, Ser Warden,” he managed breathlessly, “what beautiful lips you have~”

Alistair’s eyes twinkled as he allowed Anders to drop a little in his arms, bringing their faces close, so close.

“The better to kiss you with, my dear.”

And that husky voice was even more of a magnet than the lips were.

And Alistair tasted like everything Anders had ever wanted.


	32. Like a Siren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: Growing old  
> Warnings: dark ending

Fenris hated the snow.

After a decade down here in the south, just outside the edge of civilisation, he still wasn’t used to it. It was too cold, too wet, chilling to the bone.

But worse was the quiet it brought. Fenris’ had rather good hearing even for an elf, but the snow muffled all. It was quiet as death, and it was greatly unsettling.

All he heard was the sound of his mage’s breath, the quiet creaky groan of the bench on their porch where the mage was sitting, and the deafening crunch of his boots - the damned things - in de snow beneath.

“What are you doing, fool mage. Trying to catch your death?”

A weary smile appeared on Anders’ face, and that unsettled Fenris too. He’d seen it more and more on his mage’s face lately and he was starting to get worried.

“No, not really. Just listening to the song. It’s beautiful today.”

“The song?” Fenris’ ears twitched for a sound, but the snow made everything utterly quiet.

“Yes.” Smile still in place, eyes closed. As Fenris tilted his head curiously, Anders’ head followed. As if he could see him through closed eyes.

Although it was more likely Anders just knew him that well after being together for over a decade.

“It makes me wonder where it’s coming from. And if I could reach it.”

“You are hearing things, mage… there is no sound here but your breathing.”

The smile turned sad and now Fenris really was getting worried. He stepped closer, fingers brushing a stubbled cheek. Anders leaned into the touch, but nothing more.

“I know, love. I know.”


	33. It's in the Voice

That Blighted elf was the one who started it.  
Anders’ first impression of him was to be… well, _impressed_. Handsome, mysterious, able to rip out a man’s heart with his bare hands. Pretty sexy, if Anders did say so himself.  
When he opened his mouth, Anders had a spontaneous and very inappropriate erection.  
When he spoke his filthy mage-hating words, said inappropriate erection wilted as surely as if he had stumbled into a pile of corpses.  
And it only got worse from there.  
In the beginning, Anders could still pretend. Whenever Fenris spoke to someone else and Anders wasn’t really listening from the start, all he heard was that pleasant low burr, the attractive lilt and the strange thing Fenris did where it sounded where he was speaking with his mouth full. Anders rather liked to picture his mouth being full of cock, whenever he noticed that particular detail.  
But the longer he knew Fenris, the harder it became. Apparently the elf did little more than spout his mage-hating nonsense, and it was fairly hard to ignore the content of someone’s words when you _knew_ he was being an ass like always.  
It was with both regret and relief Anders lost the spontaneous erections popping up when hearing Fenris’ voice. It saved him from a world of awkwardness and Fenris really wasn’t worth it.  
Then again, it had been sort of nice. Not the awkwardness, but the fact that he _could_. His freedom to be inappropriately aroused, so to say. With all the freedom leaving the Circle and then the Wardens had brought him, Justice had put so many limitations right back on him.  
Justice didn’t approve of his ‘obsession with sex’.  
Which was a joke, really. Anders wasn’t half obsessed with sex as he remembered from his late teens.  
In any case, Anders knew no better than to hear that voice and scowl now. A beautiful voice wasted on a terrible person. More often than not his reaction was to argue rather than to be quietly aroused now. Shout loud enough so he wouldn’t have to hear that sinful voice say those horrid things.  
And it worked, up to the point where Fenris was suddenly saying entirely different things.  
“Isabela says we just need to fuck and get this over with.”  
All of Anders’ thoughts stuttered to a halt and he shrunk back against the wall, far enough to allow the much shorter elf to pin him in place with a hand over his shoulder.  
“W-what?”  
“I want to say she is insane for even suggesting it, but…” Fenris gave him a deliberate once-over, a heated look that went straight to Anders’ groin. “I’m inclined to agree with her. I’m certain your rants would be far more… _palatable_ once I’ve seen those lips wrapped around my cock.”  
“Who says I’m even going down on someone like you-u-!”  
Anders had been pressed down on his knees before he was fully aware what was happening. He felt momentarily disorientated, but all it took to ground him was Fenris leaning in and giving a low cross between a purr and a growl into his ear.  
“ _I_ say you will.”

> The addition of the choir boy to their merry little band of misfits only made things worse. Anders never really got over Fenris and his voice anymore, but the Chanter from Starkhaven…  
>  Andraste’s frilly knickers, they could put that man to work in a brothel and all he would have to do was narrate the Chant of Light in that delicious brogue and he’d have customers flocking to him.  
>  Sadly for Anders, Fenris seemed to catch on real quick.

Anders shuddered at the low voice, and suddenly his fingers were scrambling against Fenris’ leggings, scratching and searching for the laces to undo them with too much haste, too clumsily. The elf didn’t move to help him either, just stood up straight again and canted his hips forward to offer a sizeable bulge speaking of a good erection to swallow down.  
“And _now_ you’re eager,” he chuckled, voice low and husky. Sinful.  
The Chantry should be forbidding Fenris’ voice instead of harassing innocent mages.  
“Can’t wait to suck some good cock again, can you? I believe you mentioned your frivolous past before… didn’t expect to see it first-hand like this.”  
Anders could feel the sharp tips of Fenris’ gauntlets scratch against his scalp when fingers wove into his hair. Sharp pinpricks of pain followed when his hair got caught between the metal digits, but it was easily ignored in favour of the dark cock springing out at him from the leggings.  
But as he wanted to lean in and take it into his mouth, the hand in his hair stopped him.  
“Look at it. Tell me you want it.”  
Anders let out a pitiful whimper of need, the cock before him stiffening slowly while he was watching it. The head swelling, earning a pinkish haze as it peaked from between folds of skin still present.  
“Tell me I want it,” he replied instead, and Fenris laughed.  
The grip was released and Anders shot forward, swallowing down the entirety of the elf’s not-quite-fully-hard cock, and it was as delicious as the man’s voice.

> “Sebastian.”  
>  Anders cringed in advance. That name, in that elf’s voice… how was he going to make it through listening those two have a complete conversation without getting in trouble? It sounded almost impossible already.  
>  “What is it, my friend?”  
>  “What does the Chant have to say about lust?”  
>  Sebastian floundered for a moment, clearly taken off guard, but Anders stiffened in shock.  
>  And not just the normal kind of stiffening you did in shock, because he was painfully aware of what Fenris was doing.  
>  “Specifically, what does the Chant say about over-indulging in pleasures that sparks their lust?”

“You are weak to my voice, mage.”  
Anders gulped heavily and bobbed his head. He had not meant to nod, but it sure looked like it.  
Not that it mattered much. They both knew the answer was ‘yes’ now.  
“You are weaker to my voice than you are to my cock,” Fenris hummed, his hand setting to soft petting motions, gauntlets catching blond hairs on every movement. “But you still want it. You still need it. You need to show me how much you like it.”  
Anders moaned, his hips bucking while he swallowed – and swallowed again. Fenris tasted of salt and sweat and lyrium and there was the sharp taste of precum now, even if there was no tremor to the elf’s voice.  
“You need to adore me,” he murmured, and it was almost hypnotic, listening to Fenris’ voice. “You need to let me know how much you love my voice. How much it arouses you. How hard you’ve been every time you listened to me.”  
Anders whimpered quietly, bobbing his head faster, sucking harder.  
“Every argument you just did because you were holding back. Now you can let go. Now you can show me.”He lost track of time. He lost where he was, when he was, with whom he was. It was just that low voice and he _ached_.  
“Show me. Show me how much you love this. Heed my order and cum for me.”

> “Enough, enough!”  
>  Anders was quick to interrupt, catching up with the two and physically breaking them up by pressing between them. Something he may have thought through better, because now Fenris was leering at him with that knowing smirk and Sebastian looked so lost, which was terribly adorable. Terribly adorable and misleading, because they all knew Sebastian had the sharpest tongue of them all when it came down to things.  
>  “Keep your dirty confessions to the privacy of a whorehouse, elf!”  
>  “Says the man who is currently hard at the mere thought.”  
>  Anders positively squeaked indignantly and stopped in his tracks, causing the other two man to stop as well. Ahead, Hawke paused to look at them wearily, clearly anticipating to have to stop another fight.  
>  Oh, if only he knew. This wasn’t a fight Fenris was aiming for.  
>  “Anders?”  
>  It was almost impossible to _not_ moan at the way his name rolled through Sebastian’s mouth. Like an exquisite piece of confectionary. Like a dainty sweet bun the nobles currently loved so much in High Town.  
>  Sebastian only had to share one look with Fenris before it dropped.  
>  _And then they were both grinning, sweet Maker._

**Memories were cruel things like that. Always catching up with him at the most inopportune times.**  
**There was no privacy here. Not that Anders had known true privacy since merging with Justice, but at least he could pretend before. When he was alone in a room, he could imagine he was truly alone.**  
**Now; not so much.**  
**He may be alone, but there were two guards stationed on the other side of his door. And that was already progress for the better, because he belonged in a cell down in the basement of Skyhold.**  
**He had started down there, in fact, but the Inquisitor had thought it better to use his skills. He was of no use to anyone down there, so he was to come up and be put to good use healing Inquisition soldiers.**  
**A good fate, Anders decided. A fate he was extremely grateful for, at this point.**  
**But the room was small and smelled like the same smoke some of the patrons of the Hanged Man used to enjoy. And those were all he needed for certain memories to spark.**  
**Memories of Wicked Grace. Memories of Varric telling his stories and Isabela cheating them out of their money.**  
**Memories of Fenris and Sebastian speaking in low voices, just quiet enough for Anders not to hear what they were saying, but for every sound from their lips to go straight to his crotch.**  
**Oh but this was a terrible place and a terrible time to be jacking off.**

> “Perhaps we should listen to Anders and… continue this conversation somewhere more private?”  
>  A calculating look from the elf before he nodded, and just like that Anders found himself pinned between the two men, each holding an arm in an almost painful grip.  
>  “You’ll get back home from here by yourself now, right Hawke?” Sebastian’s smile was most angelic, even if Hawke’s nod was terribly weary.  
>  “Play nice, boys.”  
>  “Oh, we will,” Fenris chuckled, steering the three of them in the direction of his mansion. “All we will do is talk.”

**But those voices.**  
**Even after all this time, he could not forget.**  
**Fenris never really needed to touch him, although Anders was grateful he eventually did. Must’ve felt sorry for the mage at some point – or perhaps Sebastian had scolded him for always taking his fill but never returning any.**  
**Wishful thinking, of course. Sebastian had been just as bad, talking to Anders like he was getting paid for each dirty word passing his lips while Anders desperately sucked Fenris off.**  
**And he never really _needed_ to be touched.**  
**Usually, a command was all he needed.**  
**_And Andraste’s dirty knickers, that had spoiled him for good._**  
**His hands had been working his cock for almost half an hour now, and it was _hurting_. He wasn’t being careful, all he wanted was things to be done and over with. All he wanted was to finish and forget this ever happened.**  
**Thing was, he hadn’t bothered touching himself since those times with Fenris and Sebastian.**  
**He never thought he deserved it. And Justice didn’t approve anyway.**  
**The only reason he was touching himself _now_ , was the smell here… and perhaps that voice he heard calling out in the courtyard earlier.**  
**Not Fenris.**  
**Not Sebastian.**  
**Someone new, someone he only spoke to briefly today. Someone with an entirely new voice that set all of Anders’ senses of fire.**

> “You are enjoying yourself quite a bit, aren’t you Anders?”  
>  The archer’s chuckling would’ve been just plain cruel if the man was capable of  
>  such a thing. Only Sebastian wasn’t. He was all innocence and perfection and the prime example of what every good Andrastian should be, and he was also talking Anders into a frenzy.  
>  “Look at how hard you are, sucking so eagerly on Fenris’ cock. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were born for it.”  
>  “If I did not know any better, I would say the same,” Fenris rumbled, amused.  
>  _Amused_. Like he wasn’t affected at all. Like Anders wasn’t tasting the telltale heat of his precum thick on his tongue.  
>  “You could cum from the taste alone,” Sebastian teased, almost playful. “I would say you could. But you wouldn’t, would you? You would only really cum because I tell you to.”  
>  Anders whimpered, _whined_ , needy-  
>  “Anders. Cum.”

**No matter what he did, he couldn’t reach.**  
**The edge was just there, so close. All he had to do was fall over it.**  
**Every time he sped up, almost there, really there now – he just tumbled back, just missed it. His arms were aching and his cock was sore and he _needed to cum so bad_.**  
**But it was quiet in the room aside from his panting. Just his own low gasps and groans, nothing sexy. Nothing like Fenris rumbling an order in his ear. Nothing like Sebastian’s voice momentarily hardening to deliver a sharp and well-timed order.**  
**Just himself.**  
**Just himself, and the quiet creak of the door.**  
**Anders whimpered pathetically, leaning back, stroking harder. Both hands, because one wouldn’t hold out anymore. Just one was hurting too bad to keep up.**  
**And there was movement behind him, and he couldn’t stop, he had to- _he had to-_**  
**“You can cum now,” tittered an amused voice, somewhat throaty, somewhat pitched – _the mercenary from before, Krem-_**

And Anders tumbled over the edge crying, hot tears of relief rolling down his cheeks as he finished with thick wet spurts, soiling himself like the teenager he no longer was.  
And Justice… Andraste’s knickers, Anders didn’t care if he disapproved.


	34. Should be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Sebanders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

Anders did not look pleased.

Hawke seemed to notice the same, and immediately stooped to begging. Rather sharp of him, Sebastian decided. Reading the mood was hardly Hawke’s strong suite; the amount of fights they got in sparked by a poor joke on the man’s side had to be proof of that.

Anders however, was clearly not convinced.

He argued and Hawke grovelled, and Sebastian took the moment of respite to lean against the wall close to the door of the clinic, fumbling for a handkerchief in one of his satchels. As soon as he found it he used it to dab at his sweaty forehead, silently bemoaning the fact he was so dizzy.

This wouldn’t do at all. It was probably just the air down here that made him so dizzy, he wasn’t really sick. It would be alright once they got out back into the fresh air, and he could accompany Hawke without problem.

He would not fail his friend like this.

But Andraste’s Mercy, it was hot down here.

He glanced around, but nobody else seemed particularly bothered by the heat. They were a little blurred though, and Sebastian doubted that was a good sign.

Maybe they should have Anders take a look at them. Being blurry could mean they were sick!

Sebastian groaned softly, dabbing his forehead again while dropping his head. For a moment everything swayed and darkened, and in an alarming two seconds he was free from the wall, _falling forward falling-_

“Steady, steady… there you go, careful.” Sebastian swayed, but didn’t fall. His feet took a clumsy step and another – and Maker knows where he was going but everything was moving like he was on a ship in a storm, so dark, so wild. “There you go, that’s good.”

For a moment he thought he was going to vomit and he closed his eyes, clenching them shut like his life depended on it. And then there was a soft pressure in his back, like he was laying down- his leg was tugged to the side, bent, and then he was grounded once more.

“And what made you think it was a good idea to drag him around like this, Hawke? He can barely stand!”

_Who did?_

“He looked fine just now!”

“Andraste’s pierced nipples Hawke! He’s as pale as my arse! How could you possibly miss him being sick?”

“Now, now, he’s not _that_ pale-”

Hawke attempt to appease was cut short by an angry noise from Anders, and with that the situation finally cared to settle in Sebastian’s head.

He was laying down on one of the clinic’s cots.

He had almost fainted.

With a startled little sound he struggled to get up, trying to push upright while his armour weighed him down. His attempt was quickly thwarted, although it took him two seconds to realise he was being pressed down by an insistent hand.

A hand belonging to the apostate, he noted upon further inspection.

“That does it. He’s staying here, _I’m_ staying here. Go find someone else to slay corpses in your bloody Bone Pit today. Get out of my clinic, you lot.”

“Andeeeers please! I need you! And I need Sebastian too, can’t you just heal him?”

“Out!”

The outburst was followed by shuffling noises and mutters and then blessed silence. The quiet already made him feel a lot better, funnily enough.

He was still blinking blearily up at the dirty ceiling full of suspicious leaking stains, and Sebastian only really realised he was no longer held down when a cool wet cloth dabbed at his sweaty forehead.

“There, you’re sweating buckets. Why are you here anyway, you should’ve stayed in bed this morning.”

“A-Ah was hardly feeling-”

“Shut up. You should be sleeping, not making up excuses for running around with a ridiculous fever.”

Sebastian rolled his head to the side, frowning at the apparition of the healer above him. Things were still blurry, but the concerned expression on the man’s face was hard to miss. _Though it couldn’t be, could it_?

“Ah didn’t know ye cared, Anders.”

“And I _won’t_ care if you keep being stupid.” The man’s tone was harsh, but there was a flush to his cheeks now that proved he was lying. Anders was terrible at lying. Sebastian could still read him like an open book even while the healer was blurry.

The cool cloth disappeared, to Sebastian’s chagrin, and next there were fingers undoing the straps of his armour.

“A-Anders!”

His hands flew up to grab Anders’ wrist, but his grip was weak and the mage barely seemed hindered by his grip at all. All the man did was huff, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to do anything sinful to you, Choir Boy; don’t worry. But I’ll have you sleep here and you can’t possibly get a good rest dressed in your armour. So it has to go.”

“But,” he spluttered in protest, only to have Anders lean over him to bring their faces close. Sebastian sucked in a shocked breath, suddenly stilling as their eyes met. The healer’s deep brown eyes seemed to be boring holes into him, as if trying to take him apart or strip him down.

“You. You will not struggle like a prude young girl. Sick men will obey their healer, even if the sick man is a Chantry cleric and the healer is an apostate. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, Ser.”

“Better. Now shut up before I _make_ you shut up.”

The hands were once again working the straps of his armour while Sebastian just lay there, eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling once more. Flabbergasted, to say the least.

_What did that threat even mean?_

“Anders, ye shouldn’t-”

Before he knew it a new heat descended on him. Everything went dark and warm and suddenly his world tasted of elfroot and smelled of sewer and ozone. And cruelly enough, he only really realised what brought on these changes a second before it ended.

Anders pulled back from kissing him only marginally, brow furrowed in a serious attempt to look angry despite the bright blush on his face that said _pleased_ and _grateful_ and _worried_. Sebastian just opened his mouth trying to find words, trying to find anything to do or say, and eventually licked his lips and remained silent.

“Much better.”

And with that, Anders went back to work on the buckles.

It was only when Anders had managed to struggle him out of his entire armour and left him in his underclothes that the healer sat down on the edge of the cot. Sebastian was tucked in and he found his eyes droop, exhaustion taking over now he was no longer getting jostled about. The warmth of Anders remained by his side and Sebastian felt oddly safe. Protected. A feeling he hadn’t realised he was aching for this much.

Anders truly seemed to care. Sebastian had feared… he had been so certain the mage hated him, this new knowledge was like a tight knot of worry being released in his chest.

_“I will not be caught liking a Chantry cleric, I will not be caught liking a Chantry cleric I will NOT be caught liking a Chantry cleric-_ ”

Sebastian grinned to himself, sleepy as he was.

“Anders?”

“Shut up. You’re asleep, remember?”

“Won’t you _make_ me?”


	35. Learning new traditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen&up  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: Nesting  
> Warnings: Omegaverse, mpreg

It was, without doubt, the worst nest Fenris had ever seen.

Even slaves managed to make better nests. They only got to use very plain and basic blankets and pillows, but at least they tended to be clean. Slave omegas were rare and expensive to begin with, so a miscarriage was very costly. Most slavekeepers didn’t want to risk it.

But Fenris had no keeper to provide him with the basic stock for building a nest. When the urge to build his mate a nest arose, all he had available was a dilapidated mansion where any fabric objects were in very questionable states.

He scrounged up anything that was even remotely doable to build it into a nest. Curtains that were stiff with mould became the basis to work on, and the more towards the middle the better material he used. The difficulty was where he barely had any good material and he should be happy he even managed to have the heart of the nest free from mould and insects.

He wasn’t happy at all.

Fenris couldn’t have felt more inadequate as an alpha even if he tried.

And yet, Anders accepted the offering without question. That is to say; Fenris didn’t actually offer the nest, too ashamed to lead his mate to it. One day while he was fruitlessly fussing over the pile of disgusting fabric Anders just wandered into the room and crawled in without a word. The mage pulled a torn shirt of Fenris’ that had made it into the nest against his face and curled up; and Fenris hadn’t been able to coax Anders out unless it was to actually _go out_ ever since.

Anders’ embroidered pillow showed up in the pile soon enough, but only days later Fenris found a different pillow – one of the _best_ pillows in the pile! – discarded all the way into the hallway. He attempted to put it back in the nest once, but the pillow was cast out once more. Not knowing what the pillow had done to offend his omega, Fenris left it at that and didn’t think anything of the pillow’s mysterious disappearance until months later. Luckily, by then he knew not to get upset at Isabela for stealing his stuff for the nest she’d built Merrill.

He was tempted to point out to her she should thank Varric for that.

“Broody. Come with me for a moment, I need to show you something.”

Fenris hesitated, lingering for a moment to look at Anders. He wanted to go back with is omega and make sure he was comfortable, but that would set a habit of ignoring his friends for months to come. Which was not his intention.

“I’m heading down to the clinic before coming home,” Anders told him, lifting his chin a little as if to dare Fenris to argue. “You only get in the way there with your constant fussing anyway. I’d rather you stay here.”

With one pointed look at Hawke – _if anything happens to my omega on the way to Darktown I’ll rip something out of your tender parts_ – Fenris grunted an acknowledgement. Anders seemed pleased he didn’t push it and rewarded his alpha with a quick, chaste kiss, and Fenris ended finding himself abandoned with Varric in front of the Hanged Man.

“This better be good, dwarf.”

“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t dare separate you from your lovely omega otherwise. Maker forbid he might sneeze without you there to give him a tissue.”

Fenris was pretty sure that was sarcasm in Varric’s voice, but he couldn’t deny he’d done that before so he refused to comment. He followed the dwarf to his suite quietly, hoping silence would let this whole thing be over faster.

The sooner Varric was done with him, the sooner he could go make sure Anders was still alright.

Three steps into the dwarf’s suite he suddenly had an arm full of blankets.

“There you go broody. For the nest.”

Fenris blinked, looking down baffled at the warm soft, blankets. Before he could protest though, Varric continued.

“I noticed you weren’t stealing anything for the nest, so I decided to invite you in so I could let you in on a little secret.” The dwarf patted his arm, smiling most amicably. His ‘I don’t mean offense’ face for when he knew he was going to offend. Usually reserved for moments he taught Fenris some things about southern culture he didn’t know of.

“You see, there are certain traditions here that you seem to have missed. Like, when an alpha builds a nest, it usually is built mostly on things they didn’t previously own themselves. It’s tradition to steal pillows and blankets from your friends – more importantly, your omega’s friends – so you can wrap your omega in the ‘scents of safety and love’, so to say. I don’t know who came up with it, but omega’s are suckers for it.”

Fenris opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could finally word his question. “You’re telling me to steal from my friends? And Anders wants me to?”

“Yes broody, that’s what I’m telling you.” Varric gave his arm another pat with a friendly chuckle. “People tend to keep extra pillows and blankets around for that very purpose. You’ll find Hawke built half a fort out of pillows in his hallway for you to steal.”

“And all this time I thought he was just showing off his collection to needle me.”

“Hawke would _never_.” Varric looked thoughtful for a moment, before shaking his head. “Not when it could risk your protective alpha instincts ripping him a new one, anyway. You’re kind of hot-headed.”

“Anders is kind of good at getting in trouble,” Fenris pointed out per explanation.

“Fair enough, fair enough. Now go on and raid Isabela’s room before going home to improve that nest of yours. If you hurry you can have it done before Anders returns.”

Fenris turned to leave, but before he exited the suite he paused. He gave Varric one look, and he could see the glee on the dwarf’s face before he even said his words.

“Thank you Varric. This means a lot to me.”

And it meant even more to Anders, it seemed.

When the omega returned home his whole face lit up at the sight of their rebuilt nest. Instead of ducking straight in he grabbed Fenris’ arm and dragged him in with him, curling up warmly against his alpha’s chest even if there were no more mouldy scents to hide from.

But months later, Fenris would not deny to be proud of one thing he did right with the nest. Because even with all the luxury of the pillows and blankets provided by Varric, Hawke and their other friends, Anders always slept with his face nuzzled into Fenris’ torn shirt.


	36. All or nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Sebfenders  
> Kinks: Nesting, polyamory  
> Warnings: Omegaverse, mpreg

Any alpha you would ask would say one omega is enough. Some may boast and pretend to want their own harem of omega’s, but the ones who had one would shudder at the thought.  
An omega was rather high maintenance, no matter how you looked at it. And of course, no alpha would complain about the amount of work they had to put into their mate, because they all loved it; but the idea of more than one was daunting.

To Fenris, ‘more than one’ sounded still very simple. It sounded like two or three, and he imagined that was rather doable.  
The one time he’d been made to breed for Danarius, they’d given him  _six_ , after all.  
That wasn’t the normal procedure, he’d have to admit. Breeding omegas was an expensive business, considering the price asked for an omega slave and the time it took for an omega to produce a litter and raise it old enough for selling. Miscarriage was very costly and avoided at all costs.  
An unhappy omega was much more likely to miscarry, so a pregnant omega was always supplied with the basic needs to be kept happy. A simple but adequate nest, adequate food, adequate warmth and bathing possibilities; but most importantly the alpha fathering their litter.  
That made two slaves inactive for one breeding cycle.  
Danarius didn’t like being separated from his favourite pet. Ergo, Fenris was not used as breeding stock.  
Except for that one time Danarius lost a bet to a slave breeder. Fenris was given to the breeder for a single cycle, so the breeder decided to make the most of it as possible.  
Fenris’ first and only time as a breeding alpha was with half a dozen omegas. Half a dozen omegas to impregnate, half a dozen nests to build and half a dozen omegas to keep content.  
It had been a nightmare.  
When he had finally been returned to Danarius Fenris had begged and grovelled to not have to be punished like that again, and his master promised him it was the only time. In hindsight Danarius wouldn’t have wanted to be parted from Fenris for that long again anyway, but at the time it was the best thing Fenris had ever heard.

Most alphas down south couldn’t even imagine having six omegas at once. Most alphas down south were duly impressed Fenris managed two.

To be entirely honest, Fenris hadn’t meant to ever breed again, let alone two at once. He hadn’t stopped to think about it until it had suddenly happened.  
When he first bit down on Anders’ neck to mark him as his, he didn’t even consider such a thing. His omega had mentioned before how Grey Wardens tended to be infertile; not to mention Fenris was far too distracted by his own infatuation with the man. As much as he hated Anders and the fact that he was a mage and  _worse_ , he had the fluttering in his stomach of a teenager in love and it was inevitable they ended up together.  
Breeding did not cross their minds at all, not even with Fenris’ teeth sunk into freckled skin right next to the faded mark of Karl and his knot firmly lodged into his omega’s slick hole.

Breeding did not cross his mind either when he noticed the longing glances of Sebastian, nor when he noticed  _his_  omega sending the other omega similar glances.  
Breeding did not cross his mind when he confronted them both about it, nor when he offered they could try together for some time. He wanted Anders to be happy and they bickered and fought so often, he often feared he would end up pushing the mage into a corner where he might wilt.  
And when he fell in love with Sebastian, he could only think of sweet kisses and biting the smooth skin of that neck, hovering over his omegas tangled in the sheets below him. Sebastian initially didn’t want Fenris to take him, claimed he was content watching him with Anders despite the intoxicating smell of arousal coming off him and the way his breeches soaked with slick when they came together like that, but it was Anders who convinced them both to try.  
Anders made Fenris fall in love with him, and then with Sebastian, and Fenris accusations of foul magic being in play were the most fond words he had ever spoken.  
He ended up fucking Sebastian on top of Anders until he had both omegas satisfied, at which point he’d pass out himself too.  
Anders was a challenge to fully satisfy with that Warden stamina.

Breeding  _did_  cross his mind when Sebastian unexpectedly went into heat. In fact, it was quite at the forefront of his mind while he rutted his begging omega. The thing was that he didn’t actually think of the real consequences, instincts taking over as he took care of his love. When he had bred the slave omegas so many years earlier, it had been nothing like this. No sweet whispers and high keens begging for his attention. The sex had been almost mechanical, where Sebastian seemed a creature made from pure passion.  
And then his mind just short-circuited when Sebastian’s heat triggered Anders’ as well. As a healer Anders was capable to suppress a lot of it, being all too reasonable and trying to take care of both his lovers while they were too busy to think of food and baths and fresh sheets. Fenris could smell his need though, and as soon as Sebastian quieted down a little he dragged Anders into the bed with them. The upside of having been with Anders for so long was that he wasn’t even close to tired after taking care of Sebastian, and his rut continued unpardoned on his older omega.

Only after that reality came knocking.  
Sebastian became very fidgety very fast, and Anders was suddenly avoiding them both. Fenris made sure to take good care of Sebastian, but they were both hyperaware of Anders’ absence. They were both worried and the unease over Anders’ safety was even more palpable than Sebastian’s physical discomfort.  
Fenris knew he had impregnated Sebastian, intentionally or not. He would’ve been more excited about it if he didn’t just remember that time with the slaves and if Sebastian reacted better himself.  
Anders however... He didn’t know any better or Anders was infertile. And when he shared this supposed bit of information with Sebastian, the omega seemed to pale in fear.  
Words like ‘jealousy’ and ‘loss’ and ‘hurt’ were spoken and they went down to Darktown to forcefully drag Anders back to their bed. It was no surprise to find him weeping, but it  _was_  a surprise to find the thick scent of pregnancy on him.  
That’s when Fenris became excited.  
And at the same time, Sebastian’s mood leaped.  
It took some effort to convince Anders that he and his baby were wanted too, and from there on it all got better.

The upside of being mated to both his omegas was that he needn’t build them two nests.  
He had barely gotten two blankets together before they curled up together where he started building. Fenris was forced to lift and roll them to build the nest around them, grumbling at them good-naturedly about the trouble they caused him.  
He grumbled harder when Anders tried to sneak the food he brought him down to the clinic to share with patients. To his pleasant surprise though, giving Anders the direct order to eat his own food actually worked, and he was able to keep both his omegas well-fed.

There were problems that followed - problems with the Chantry and the Grand Cleric; problems with the clinic and the Mage Underground - but none of them could stop Fenris from keeping his omegas where they belonged: together in the nest he built them.  
Alphas down south were very impressed he managed two omegas at once. Fenris was more impressed he managed their messes of lives around them.

Because honestly, there was no way his bonded mates could ever be a bother to him.


	37. The trouble of chastity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: MAture  
> Pairing: Sebanders/Fenhawke  
> Kinks: D/s, mention of toys and group sex  
> Warnings: No actual chastity kink in here

“Let me be blunt. Ah’m propositioning you both.”

Hawke nearly spit out his wine, halting his near violent heaving movement just in time to keep it in his mouth. He stayed like that shocked for half a second before Fenris patted his back, and he swallowed with difficulty.

“Would you care to explain that a little, Sebastian?”

Hawke had no idea how Fenris was remaining to be so composed, but he was grateful for it. He knew his lover rather liked the sight of Anders and Sebastian both, although they had swapped barely anything more than idle fantasies. Just little bits of teasing. Maybe some suggestions of either of the two joining in the bedroom and the consequences thereof, but never serious.

How could they be serious, when Anders and Sebastian were already together?

Years ago, Hawke had found himself attracted to all three of them. He had not known who to pursue, flirting with the lot of them. Anders seemed most responsive, and that was the main reason he hoped to seduce Anders into his bed rather than one of the other two. He liked them equally, so he would take whoever was most willing.

Surprisingly he found himself making out with Fenris first, and after one passionate night with the elf he didn’t dare push for Anders anymore. In less than a week Anders and Sebastian came together, blocking them off as options for good.

Hawke was not complaining, mind you.

Fenris needed some time, but he came back. And he was happy with Fenris, he regretted nothing. He may be attracted to the other two, but his infatuation with them had waned as his love for Fenris had grown, and the two men became nothing more than a dirty suggestion in the bedroom.

A dirty suggestion that spurred Fenris into a delicious frenzy half of the times.

In any case, Hawke could never have imagined _this_. He thought Fenris should be surprised too, but Anders was the only other one fidgeting.

A sight Hawke hadn’t seen for quite some time. Anders used to be this fidgety regularly on trips, especially with Sebastian being along. Hawke figured it was nervousness born from a crush on the archer, and as expected the nervousness became less over time again. But here it was, full force.

Hawke narrowed his eyes to give Anders a look, momentarily wondering if they had even spoken about this. If Anders was just as surprised about Sebastian’s words.

But it seemed more nerves than surprise. A relief, in the very least – not that he doubted the consent in their relationship. In fact, he knew no better than Sebastian had kept to his vows of chastity.

“Of course.” Sebastian nodded severely, reaching over to put a hand on his lover’s shoulder. Anders jumped slightly and a heat rose to his cheeks, but he scooted a little closer to the archer as well, sending odd mixed signals in Hawke’s opinion.

“Y’re both aware Ah took vows of chastity, are ye not?” There it was, and Hawke was all the more confused with the confirmation. But he nodded, carefully taking another sip of his wine. “Anders took no such vows, and Ah do not want him to suffer a forced chastity he never asked fer. But toys are simply not the same, ye understand?”

This time Hawke did not spit out his wine. Instead it went down his windpipe, and he coughed and spluttered for air. Fenris slapped his back to help him cough it up, but after a moment Anders stood to lean over and press two fingers to his chest, letting a healing spell flow to clear out his windpipe.

And also granting Hawke with a perfect view down his shirt, where he met the sight of thin ropes splayed all over his skin.

Hawke pushed back, coughing and heaving, face bright red. He pointed an accusatory finger at Anders, but was unable to bring out any words.

He was so hard in his breeches he would be ready to go straight away.

“Why come to us?” Fenris questioned casually. Hawke levelled him with a look of betrayal, but Fenris simply quirked an eyebrow at him.

Then he put a hand on Hawke’s crotch.

“Because we both feel attracted to ye, of course.” Sebastian smiled magnanimously, as if nothing were odd about this conversation. “There’s nothing Ah’d rather watch than see ye fuck Anders fer me together and satisfy him in the way Ah can’t.”

An odd high keening sound escaped Hawke’s throat, and if he hadn’t been hard yet he was now. Fenris gave him a generous squeeze in reward.

“What do you have to say for yourself, mage?”

Anders squirmed harder, but his eyes fluttered up to meet first Hawke’s gaze, and then Fenris’.

“Please?”

Hawke inhaled sharply and he met Fenris’ eyes for just a moment before the nodded firmly.

“Let’s get to the bed then, shall we?”

 

For a chaste man, Sebastian turned out to be surprisingly kinky. The ropes were one, but Anders’ fidgeting turned out to be caused by a rather large butt plug.

Hawke couldn’t really judge though. Not with how he enjoyed the evening, including Sebastian’s eyes boring into the scene hotly throughout.

 _No_ , he mused as he slid the plug back into the slick hole full of seed in the middle of the night. He gave the reddened bum an appreciative pat before finally letting go. _No, he was hardly one to judge._


	38. Bad boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Fenhanders  
> Kinks: polyamory, spanking, punishment, D/s, bondage  
> Warnings: sub space

Hawke was laughing loudly when he entered with Fenris. Even Fenris was chuckling, more openly happy than he usually allowed himself to be.  
Anders’ hand stilled, quill lifted slightly above the paper to avoid staining. His manifesto: angry, serious; like he was. The contrast between him and his lovers was like biting into a pickle.  
“Anders!” Hawle’s laughter dropped to mirthful bursts of chuckles and Anders could hear how they both started to shuck their armour. Anders still sat frozen, staring down at his manifesto -  _unjust, the Chantry has long deviated from the path Andraste set out, mages should be treated like people not like-  
_ “Join us in the tub?”  
Anders’ breath hitched, and suddenly the quill was scribbling furiously over the paper again.  
“No, you go without me. I’d spoil your mood anyway.”  
There was a long silence after his dismissal. Too long.  
Suspiciously long.  
Anders meant to finish his sentence before looking around and checking what kept his lovers silent, but suddenly his wrist was grabbed. Lyrium lined fingers plucked the quill from his grip and deposited it in its holder while a strong hairy arm wrapped around his waist to heave him up on his feet.  
“Wait- wha- _what are you doing-_ ”  
Anders kicked his feet in protest, but it was the only struggling he could get done. He was no match to either one of his lovers, let alone both. Fenris had already grabbed his other wrist and turned them behind his back while Hawke released him, giving Anders no space to move away. With both his wrists thus caught in an iron grip he was unceremoniously tossed forward on the bed, landing face first in the sheets.  
He made a muffled squeak of protest, but it was not heeded. His ass was nudged with a knee until he put his knees on the bed, and before he knew what was happening his wrists were being tied to his ankles.  
With effort he turned his head, an angry sound of protest on his lips, but he found himself silenced by a single finger shushing him.  
“Give us a good reason to stop now, and we will. But know there’s only one reason we’ll accept at this point.”  
Anders knew exactly what reason Hawke meant. The only reason that stood above all was his consent, and it was almost frightening that he clearly did something so bad all other reasons were already not good enough anymore. Normally he’d get away with excuses if he really wanted, but only when there was  _serious_  punishment…  
“I didn’t even do anything,” he whimpered, all of a sudden shaking. Shaking in a cross between fear and arousal, a mix curling near painfully in his belly. When Fenris ripped his clothes off he was already half hard, and he would would never deny he was one hundred percent into this, including the fear.  
“You lied. Do you remember the punishment for lying, Anders?”  
Anders started to shake even harder, neither Hawke and Fenris touching him anymore now. He was naked, face down on the bed and arse propped up into the air. He couldn’t move, not with the way they had tied wrists to ankles.  
He was helpless and hopelessly displayed to his lovers’ hungry eyes, and they were about to punish him for breaking one of the top rules.  
He doubted he’d be sitting anymore the coming days.  
He just couldn’t remember for the life of him what he supposedly lied about.  
“I-I didn’t,” he protested feebly, against better judgement. He felt the heat of Fenris leaning over him, approaching him from the side his head was turned away from. The brush of light hair against the side of his face, the hot puff of breath purposely aimed at his ear.  
“You dare deny? When we were both here to witness it just now? You have some nerve, mage.”  
Anders breath hitched in surprise at a sudden touch to his hole. Hawke’s finger, slick with oil, rubbing straight up against the ring of muscles. Fenris was still leaning over him, breathing hotly against his ear, making him want to shrink in fear, in apology.  
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what I said, I’m so sorry!”  
“Too late, mage. You  _will_  be punished.”  
He shuddered and Hawke’s finger pressed in slowly. It was hard to relax when he was expecting a blow to his backside any moment. Even with a finger calmly moving inside of him, Hawke could spank him. Fenris could  _definitely_  spank him. And if they were going to punish him for lying, it was just a matter of  _when_ , not  _if_.  
“We should at least tell him what he was lying about,” Hawke pointed out magnanimously, even while his finger pressed deeper and Anders let out a keen of need, trying to tilt his hips further up. This was torture in the cruel anticipation.  
“Fair enough,” Fenris admitted, huffing one more breath against the side of Anders’ face before standing up straight where Anders couldn’t follow his presence. He had the impression the elf padded around the bed to circle his lovers, but he couldn’t be sure. It may be just his imagination.  
The finger pulled out almost all the way and a second finger rubbed against his rim, slick and oily. Anders whimpered needily until it pressed in as well, having him squirming in his position.  
Thanks to Hawke’s actions, he didn’t see Fenris coming until he was right in front of him, face tilted so he could brush his lips against Anders’. Anders gasped, trying to lean in, but the attempt made him wobble and nearly lose balance instead. He was lucky Hawke steadied him with his free hand, but the palm on his butt burned in evil promise.  
The heat of a palm that could rise any moment to land more sharply, more punishing-  
“We love you Anders,” Fenris muttered unexpected against his lips, eyes sharp and penetrating. “You will  _never_  spoil our mood, and we will punish you however often it takes for you to stop telling lies about such a thing.”  
Tears burned in his eyes, but Anders didn’t know what he was crying for. His arousal, the thrilling fear of punishment, the fingers just finding his prostate to rub down against firmly. Certainly not Fenris’ words.  
He gave a curt nod, barely visible at all pressed against the bed.  
“Thank you,” he mouthed soundlessly - and then the first slap landed sharply on the pale skin of his butt.  
The first of many to come, and he welcomed them all.


	39. Unexpected, yet perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: Knotting  
> Warnings: None

The first thrust in was all sorts of perfect, and Anders arched up into Fenris with a loud gasp.  
Arms wrapped underneath him, cradling the small of his back to pull him even closer, but such a thing was no longer physically possible. Fenris was bottomed out into him, further than intended and further than Anders thought he could handle.  
He was shaking, tears on his cheeks and breathless laughter on his lips. Fenris was shaking above him as well, but Anders couldn’t read his expression. He feared Fenris’ wasn’t quite as ecstatic as he was - the elf may pretend he doesn’t care much in public, but he was by far the most considerate lover Anders ever had. He  _always_  took care of Anders, making sure not to hurt him.  
But he hadn’t prepared Anders to take his knot. He was only stretched for the thinner part of the elf’s cock, but he was taking it with ease. Such ease, in fact, that Fenris could accidentally push in too far.  
“I-I apologise. Are you alright?”  
“Better than alright,” Anders breathed, clinging to Fenris tightly. “Don’t pull out. Don’t stop.”  
Fenris seemed to hesitate, but he didn’t pull away far enough to see Anders’ face. A pity, because Anders rather wanted to meet his lover’s eyes right now. He wanted to be sure Fenris was alright  _too_.  
“I am… not hurting you?”  
“No,” Anders laughed, rolling his hips up to make Fenris move. “Now fuck me, you ridiculous man. Fuck me and fill me, I can take it.”  
“It’ll grow bigger when I-”  
“I  _know_  Fenris.”  
He rolled his hips again, more impatient this time. His legs wrapped around Fenris’ hips, pulling him in closer,  _demanding_ ; and that seemed to be the desired trigger.  
All too carefully, Fenris began to move again. Small, shallow thrusts just enough to make Anders gasp and whimper in delight, the knot tugging on his hole and the thick shaft deep, so  _deep_ -  
“F-Fenris…”  
De elf sped up, to Anders’ delight. He gasped and moaned, small noises of encouragement while Fenris’ pace picked up to serious rutting. He still seemed overly careful, holding back for Anders’ sake, but Anders didn’t know how to stop him from doing that. He was far too pleased Fenris’ cared so much, and silently unwilling to stop him. He could always ask to get fucked hard the next time.  
Or perhaps te time after. He really liked this- this… lovemaking.  
He keened loudly, his own thoughts spurring him on. If this was lovemaking, he definitely wanted his lover’s knot this time.  
“Fenris, Fenris, please! Please fill me, oh please more-”  
His lover’s low voice, grunting into his shoulder. Fingers digging painfully into Anders’ hips and he loved every second of it. It was far more intense like this, with Fenris this deeply inside, so big and hard Anders could feel every movement, every tug.  
His hand slipped in between to pull on his own cock sharply, but the sensation made him arch again, trapping his own hand against Fenris’ hard stomach. He whined for more even if he was the one depriving himself, and Fenris started to pant harshly.  
The sound of him close.  
Anders fumbled, slipping his thumb up to rub over the crown of his erection, and sudenly he was coming. He cried out for Fenris and felt the knot swell, thicken inside of him, and he only came harder.  
_He couldn’t come harder, but it sure felt like it._  
His vision blurred and he had no idea where he was even looking, all he could feel was the intensity of his orgasm and the desperate sounds of Fenris following him over the edge, the knot suddenly swelling painfully large. Anders cried out again, this time in the discomfort of it, but he couldn’t deny he was still loving it.  
Still spurting his release between them, still rocking his hips for more.  
And more was exactly what he got.  
When he came down from his high he held himself taut just long enough for Fenris to slump. Then he went boneless, sinking down on the bed with his lover on top of him.  
Fenris was still filling him, the knot painfully large, the feeling of his hot seed flowing into him with thick spurts persisting. Anders shuddered and held Fenris close, keeping his legs wrapped around him because they couldn’t disconnect even if they wanted to.  
Luckily, Anders didn’t want to at all. If they could stay like this forever, Anders would be happy.  
“You’ll be dripping all over the place when we get free,” Fenris groaned into his neck, and Anders wasn’t quite sure of the tone of it. It could be resignation…. but it might as well be arousal.  
“Guess I should run for the bathtub quick then,” Anders quipped lightly, turning his head to kiss Fenris’ ear. “But I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”  
“It didn’t hurt…?”  
“Not much. Not enough to scare me off from wanting it again.”  
“I’m still emptying my balls out in your arse and you’re already speaking about  _again_? Mage, you’re incorrigible.”  
Anders grinned, and he could feel the tremors of Fenris laughing against his chest.  
“I try, my love; I try~” 


	40. Gentle Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fyeahcbs: My OTP March 2017  
> Rating: All ages  
> Pairing: Sebanders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

Fingers of an archer had no right looking so delicate.

They were fingers of a noble, of a _prince_ , but Sebastian was an archer and should long have lost such delicacy to the callouses caused by pulling the tight bowstring.

Nathaniel’s fingers had been rough like that. Anders had felt them many times for various reasons and they had always been rough, perhaps sharp even where the callouses had worn further under their rough treatment. And Nate was a noble too.

Perhaps it was a thing of heritage. Anders had heard little good about the Howe family, so perhaps Nate had never had noble hands to begin with.

Even so, those were not the hands of a spoiled prince, tenderly smoothing over the rough fabric of Chantry robes. Those were the hands of an archer, and yet they looked soft and inviting.

Anders had touched Sebatian’s hands before too - for various reasons as well. Passing on tankards for their drunk friends in the Hanged Man, taking hold of them for one reason or another while healing him, touching by accident… when their fingers bumped into each other that time Sebastian had grabbed for him when he stumbled back towards a deep drop behind them after being hit in the chest by a on-storming spider. The time he woke up to his hands being clenched in a soothing grip, panting and sweating with the song the Darkspawn answered to still ringing in his ears.

Maybe he brushed against Sebastian’s fingers one time too many.

Leandra’s silk tablecloth should’ve caught on archer’s callouses, but instead it was only Anders’ fingers almost sticking to the too fine fabric. Instead it was Anders getting a disapproving look from the noble lady like a naughty child, and the flush on his face was joked about by his friends. Embarrassed by being scolded by Hawke’s mother, they laughed.

It was a good thing they did not know what the blush was truly for, and he wanted to write it off the same way. He did not want to acknowledge how the flush rose to his cheeks only because his thoughts of Sebastian’s hands had been interrupted.

Because he was definitely thinking far too much about those hands.

He wanted to feel them again, touch them again, study why they weren’t rougher. He knew Sebastian used gloves designed specifically to protect his hands for his archery, but he could not believe that truly worked so well. He had to see it for himself.

And that was what worried him the most about this entire thing, because why was he so obsessed with Sebastian’s hands? Worse; he wasn’t only obsessed with the man’s hands. He found himself equally distracted by his eyes. By his hair, after spotting a curl escaping the carefully groomed hairstyle. Anders once caught himself wondering about Sebastian’s plush looking lips, only to realise he’d been daydreaming about them all the way from Darktown to the start of the trail up Sundermount.

And this really wasn’t okay. Anders couldn’t be distracted by Sebastian all the time, definitely not by his hands or his eyes or those lips that muttered about the Maker. He could _not_.

Anders looked down at his hands, spreading his fingers and smoothing them over the bright red table cloth. The cloth caught on callouses that had no place on a healer’s hands. Indelicate things. _He_  should be the one with noble’s hands; a scholar’s hands. But his fingers were stained with elfroot and embrium, scarred from splinters of both glass and wood. Scarred from the dreaded switch he got himself punished with so very often as a child.

Sebastian’s hands were perfect. A little scarring from similar childhood punishment, perhaps… something more for Anders to ponder, but yet they were everything Anders’ hands weren’t.

With a sudden realisation he clenched his fists - ignoring the glare he received from Leandra over the crumpling of her tablecloth - and he bit his lip hard.

Because now he was comparing himself to Sebastian, and that was even worse than daydreaming. Comparing meant caring beyond liking the aesthetics. He could pretend the daydreaming had nothing to do with liking someone so involved with the Chantry, but comparing and finding himself lacking was too much.

_He wanted Sebastian. He had fallen for him, but he was not good enough for a man like him._

He was a mage, and despite the man’s acceptance Anders was certain Sebastian would despise him for trying to get closer. That much wouldn’t stop Anders - he was known for trying to reach for what he could not have - but it wasn’t just him being all that Sebastian supposedly despised.

Sebastian was also supposed to be everything _Anders_  despised.

And yet, when he glanced up, all he could see was plush lips shaping around gentle and caring words, bright blue eyes full of acceptance and hands stretched out to him. Hands with delicate fingers reaching for him to help him up when he needed it, to help him up when he stumbled and fell and when he hurt.

With a choked sound Anders pushed away from the table, chair toppling over and crashing to the floor when he fled Hawke’s dining room, Leandra’s protests and Sebastian’s sweet voice speaking to someone else entirely.

Sebastian wasn’t for him.

_Not that that would stop him from trying._


	41. Calm down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fyeahcbs: My OTP March 2017  
> Rating: R-17  
> Pairing: Sebanders  
> Kinks: Petplay  
> Warnings: None

"Shhh kitty. Calm down - that's a good kitty. Yis, good kitty, that's a good kitty."

Anders was shaking with fury, but the one thing that seemed to penetrate his angered thoughts of JUSTICE MUST BE SERVED was a soothing voice with a northern accent and fingers gently scratching him behind an ear. He was shaking with fury, but calming down now.

The soothing voice continued to murmur in his ear, the fingers scratching on diligently, another hand coming up to gently stroke his hair.

"That's it. Who's mah good kitty, hmm? Yis you are, you are the best kitty."

Anders couldn't quite recall what he was angry about.

He blinked, twice, re-establishing his location - his own bed? - and his company - just Sebastian? - before suddenly going lax. Sebastian caught him, strong arms wrapping around his chest and gingerly lowering him back down between the man's knees.

When his weight landed Anders became abruptly aware of his tail missing and he made a pitiful noise, pressing back into Sebastian’s chest, rubbing his shoulders up against him.

"You want yer tail, don't ye, kitty?" Sebastian leaned in to press a loving kiss to blond hair. "Ye'll only get it when ye calmed down proper."

Anders yowled at that, writhing to turn around in Sebastian’s arms, looking up at him pleadingly. His tail relaxed him, gave him peace and space to stop thinking. He did not want to remember what had Justice take over just now, in his room with his lover. He just wanted to give in, let go, put that anger behind him. But if he didn't get his tail he would start thinking and-

"Very well." Sebastian was frowning, but gave in nonetheless. “Your tail, and your ears too then. Will you wear yet collar for me Anders?"

Anders nodded eagerly, heaving a sigh of relief and pressing into his lover, closer warmer _if he could crawl into his skin-_

"Give me a moment then, silly kitty!" Sebastian was laughing now and it was liberating. Anders pulled back and lay down on the bed, stretching luxuriously - as much as his small cot allowed anyway. Sebastian only moved away far enough to rummage through the chest at the foot of Anders' bed, coming back within seconds with Anders' headband with dark blond ears, a few shades darker than his hair, and a matching tail on a small plug. Anders readily spread his legs while Sebastian smeared a dollop of an elfroot salve over the metal plug, tilting his hips up so Sebastian could easily pop it into his hole. He arched his back immediately, wiggling his arse and revelling in the feeling of his tail. It wasn't much, not even a stretch at all, but he could feel it when he focused on it and it was an ever calming influence.

Sebastian motioned for him to sit up and he did so after only a few obstinate seconds, allowing his lover to put the headband on his head and flick the ears.

"There. The prettiest kitty of Kirkwall."

Anders preened under the compliment, purring and laying over Sebastian’s lap. He was so content he made no effort to bat away the collar when it appeared, a game he often liked to play. The collar meant obedience, no collar meant he got to be a naughty and frivolous kitty. He loved being the latter a lot, but right now he wanted to be a good kitty. Right now he needed Sebastian’s guidance to relax him.

"Mah good kitty."

Anders started purring immediately when Sebastian’s fingers found that nice spot in his hair, right behind his ear again. It was just a gentle scritch scritch that allowed Anders to soak in it. A feeling of affectionate petting so close to his ear it filled his hearing as well as his sensing. Being in Sebastian lap, his master now filled all his senses.

There was the ever present sweet smell of the expensive incense they used in the Chantry, impossible to wash from his clergy robes. But there was also the smell of elroot and embrium, of Sebastian helping him in the clinic mixing his potions.

Gentle fingers and healing smells and the soothing roll of his lover's voice just praising him as the best kitty, the prettiest pet. Anders would disagree if he wasn't a kitty right now. He used to be vain and he was far from the handsome man he used to be. But as a kitty he could indulge in the praise, basking in it like a fat cat enjoying his food.

"Ah should take this chance to groom you," Sebastian muttered thoughtfully. "Make you an even prettier kitty fer me. When did you last brush yer hair, you lazy little thing?"

Anders yawned, unimpressed, but accomodated for Sebastian to move him around. When he could lay his head back down in his lover's lap he squirmed excitedly, eager for what was to come.

As promised, long strong fingers carded through his hair. He started purring again instantly, tilting his head this way and that to get Sebastian’s fingers combing his hair wherever he felt most like it. It was perfect, and although Anders had no idea what prompted their play anymore, everything outside this room no longer mattered.

When with Sebastian, when getting to play, nothing else mattered. Not the plight of the mages nor the Maker, just a kitty and a lover eager to spoil him.

Anders purred loudly as he stretched again, getting comfortable.

Everything mattered, as long as it was Sebastian.


	42. Happily ever after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R-17  
> Pairing: Handers  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: **Body horror, psychological horror**

"Good morning, Anders~"

Hawke leaned over to give a quick peck to Anders' cheek, humming cheerfully. He did not wait for a response, the sleepy twitch of his lover enough sign of life to satisfy him, and he strolled over to the window to open the curtains wide. Sun streamed in, dust particles suddenly starkly visible as they fluttered thickly through the air. He grinned at the outside, reaching up to crack the window open to let in a breeze of fresh spring air. The scent of flowers and grass flowed in, green of a night's rain.

"Good morning, Love."

Hawke grinned as if it had actually been Anders' voice to answer him. He had taken to answering instead of his lover, now he no longer could. Anders had always been a chatty mage and the silence would kill him otherwise.

It wasn't that Anders didn’t want to answer anyway. Anders loved him and was more than willing, shifting sleepily behind him as he slowly woke.

No, it was simply that he no longer could. No tongue to speak. It was the Templars' fault that his love could no longer tell him good morning with his own voice. The Templars made him... speak poison. They had killed Anders slowly, so when Hawke saved him from their grasp there was only one way to save him.

They lasted for days before Hawke gave in, unable to bring himself to maim his own love. The voice he always enjoyed so much, who'd speak of kittens and mage rights and patients lost and saved. But the Templars left poison and it had to come out to save Anders' life. Sometimes amputation of a limb was the only way to save a life.

Hawke had cried while locking Anders' mouth open and reaching in with a razor sharp dagger. He had cried restraining the spasms of agony when he tried to cut the muscle as quick and painlessly as possible. He had howled when he struggled to staunch the flow, and he wasn't cried dry from tears until long after Anders passed out and the bleeding finally stopped.

So Hawke answered for Anders now, even if it wasn't his lover's beautiful voice. It was the Templars' fault.

"It's a beautiful day out," he chirped happily, pretending not to remember that pain. It was long ago now, and they had lived together happily for years. The Templars could not break them. The Templars could not take away their happily after.

"We should go out for a stroll. Some fresh air would do you good, you've gotten awfully pale over winter."

Anders was always awfully pale these days. He never went outside anymore. Hawke really should push him a little more, it wasn't healthy to stay cooped up inside all day.

"The sun is so bright too. You'd love being out again."

He turned to flash Anders a quick look, to see his response. Anders reacted only slowly to his words, everything taking forever now. Like moving through honey and thinking through the hazy tendrils from recent sleep. But his head turned to the window, knowing to find it infallibly.

Hawke grinned proudly before turning his gaze back out of the window.

He believed Anders could still see a little, despite his lack of eyes. They had been empty, like orbs of glass shifting to follow him, so Hawke had taken them out. They had been nothing but a bother, nothing but a pain. Things were easier now, less painful. Even if it cost Anders his beautiful eyes.

Eyes of a sweet cinnamon brown. Or honey gold. Hawke frowned when the memory of those beloved eyes eluded him.

"Yes, let's walk."

He turned and briskly stalked over to the bed. Anders flinched lightly at the suddenness of the movement, but Hawke wasn't too bothered. Anders wasn't afraid of him, never was, never would be. He loved Anders with all his heart and Anders loved him back.

There was nothing to fear from him.

"No need to flinch from me Love, I am no Templar," he chuckled, reaching down to wrap his arms under the small of his lover's back. He heaved him upright and Anders made a strangled noise in surprise, but he dropped forward into Hawke’s arms nonetheless.

"That's it, Love. Let me just pick you up here." He pressed a kiss to a scruffy cheek while his arms shifted, one hand grabbing Anders' buttocks to lift him up, the other wrapping around his torso to stabilise him.

Hawke didn't mind having to carry his lover. In fact, he loved being so close to Anders, their bodies pressed together wherever they went. No more distance between them, never again. The Templars may have taught his lover to run away from him, no doubt to get back to their abuse, but Hawke had foiled those plans too. If the Templars cursed his lover's legs to make him run, he'd simply cut out that poison too.

Now Anders was light as a feather and easily lifted. No legs wrapped around his waist nor any arms came around to hold on to him. Hawke frowned a little dejectedly, but the souring of his mood was quickly shoved aside for happier thoughts.

"Maybe a tan will hide all those scars a little," he joked easily, turning to carry him outside. "That scar never truly went white. It's still all red... a tan will hide it, yes. We should go for a long walk, Anders. A long walk all day long."

Anders offered no reply, simply hanging limply against Hawke’s chest, only held by Hawke’s arms.

"I agree, Love," Hawke pretended to parrot for Anders, shifting his lover's weight so he could tuck empty sleeves between them. He groped for a moment to make sure Anders' smalls weren't skewed too badly before setting out.

"I'm so happy we still get to go out together like this," Hawke murmured into Anders' ear gently. "No matter what the Templars tried. We're happy and growing old together. We win Anders. We have won this fight."

And he walked for hours with his limbless lover in his arms, amputated one by one after the tongue went first.  And he walked and walked, until the mark on Anders' forehead was blistered from sunburn and no longer distinguishable from the scars Hawke had left when he tried to remove that hateful brand.

"We have our happily ever after no matter what they do," Hawke whispered, again and again, squeezing the tranquil lover he maimed beyond recognition so he wouldn't have to see. He couldn't watch his lover be tranquil.

He saved Anders and got rid of all the pain for him.

"Ever after, Love."


	43. Battering ram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: All ages  
> Pairing: Handers  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: near-Tranquility

Isabela once described Aveline as a woman shaped battering ram.

It was hard to fault her for coming up with such a descriptor, considering she had been talking to Hawke. But she was wrong in describing Aveline with it.

Aveline was more like a stone wall, unyielding and hard. Quite the opposite of Isabela herself, who moved like water and was all lush curves, tempting…

Yes, Isabela was like the ocean. Tempting, beckoning, promising freedoms and pleasures untold. Please her and you shall receive in return, but if angered she’ll kill ruthlessly with just a flick of the hand. Strike at her and she’ll move around your hand; you’ll come back dripping and panting if you’re lucky enough to survive.

Aveline was the cliff standing tall over said ocean. Defying the beck and call of the water day after stubborn day, refusing to diminish except for the occasional strike back at the taunting ocean.

Strike her a thousand times and you’ll barely have scratched her skin. Aveline was hard as rock and as beautiful as a mountain.

Hawke… now Hawke was definitely a human shaped battering ram. And most of Kirkwall’s ruffians learned that within the first year of Hawke’s presence in the city, only the new or particularly foolish managing to ever forget that. They rarely lived to tell the tale.

After Hawke’s arrival to Kirkwall a few unwritten rules were quickly established: Anger Hawke and you die. Anger his friends and you hurt. Hurt his friends and you die.

A few years later, a very important rule was added to the list - unspoken but not unwritten, as it appeared graffitied on several walls in Lowtown and Darktown where the foolish men could be warned.

Hurt Hawke’s lover, and you’ll _wish_  you were dead.

So nobody truly had to doubt what was to come when Isabela slipped through the halls of the Gallows, disarming traps with deft fingers and popping into a room here and there to loot a securely locked chest.

Nobdy had to doubt what was going on when they saw the grim face of the guard captain with her sword and shield in hand amble forward through doors that looked like they had suffered an explosion.

There was no explosion. There was just Hawke, kicking down doors regardless of whether they were locked - an amused Isabela may actually be closing them ahead of him just for the sake of him stopping, leaning back slightly to lift a heavily armoured boot and then kick hard enough for wood to splinter and the door to crack into the opposing wall with unnecessary violence.

Well, unnecessary for the door anyway, because it wasn’t the door’s fault.

It was the Templars’ fault, and they knew it perfectly well.

They heard them coming - the sound of the Champion of Kirkwall storming through their Gallows like a battering ram, milling down anyone who dared to step too close.

They knew they had little time left and even less hope for their lives, being in a dark and too hot torture chamber with a blond apostate strapped to a table. They knew they had to hurry, but the fire refused to heat any faster and the brand was not hot enough to perform a quick rite before the armoured boot came in view, crashing through their door without even a knock.

The youngest of the Templars present spontaneously wet himself.

The biggest one wailed in fear.

The meanest one burned himself on the fire, trying to back away from Hawke as fast as possible.

Anders would admit to having been scared shitless, while at the same time never truly worrying, because he _knew_  Hawke would be there in time. He was shaken and filthy when Hawke carefully lifted him off the table to set him down, barely waiting for Isabela to release all the straps and locks first. The way he handled Anders was tender and delicate, like he was picking up a vase of the finest glass his mother had told him was an heirloom.

Anders appreciated the care. If Hawke and he didn’t bicker on a daily basis about everything, he might have protested. If Hawke wasn’t as blunt and rude with him as he was with everyone else, he might’ve insisted he wasn’t that fragile.

But he knew that the care was love and the gentleness was a sign that Hawke had honestly been afraid of losing him, so Anders basked in it for now. Besides, his legs weren’t quite convinced about supporting his weight yet anyway.

“I remember this scene,” Isabela suddenly crooned, right behind them with Aveline as they made their way out of the Gallows unhindered. “You talked about this in that chateau, at the fancy Orlesian party. Or in the caves beneath the chateau anyway.”

“Huh… now that you mention it…” Anders clung to Hawke a little tighter, glancing over his shoulder to see the pirate. “I described this exact scene, didn’t I? What did I say I would do after the saving?”

“You’d be all about finding the best way to thank Hawke!”

She was far too excited for this, so Anders made a mental note to make sure the curtains were properly closed tonight.

“You already know how to thank me best,” Hawke deadpanned, and if Anders didn’t know any better, it may have sounded innocently gruff. Isabela took it as dirty as it was though, by her cackling, and Aveline made an exasperated noise.

So it was mostly to appease the guard captain that Anders pressed into Hawke’s side, forcing him to stop for a moment so he could push up on his tiptoes and lean over all the dangerous spikes of the hard armour for a resounding kiss to a scruffy cheek.

“Thank you, Love. I knew I could count on you.”


	44. Show off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teens&up  
> Pairing: Alianders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None

Anders sighed wistfully, leaning on the wooden rail circling the sparring ring.

"Won't you show me again, pretty boy? The way you move when you do that exercise is just so... hmmmnnn..."

He sighed again, offering his fellow warden a hopeful smile. This smile, in combination with flattery, always worked on Templars. The best part though, was that this one was no Templar.

This was the only man Anders ever met who was trained as a Templar and then put said training to good use.

Alistair's face was red, and Anders fancied it a blush for the flattery. More likely though, it was the exertion of his training. Anders had seen him warm up outside the ring two hours ago when he entered the infirmary, and now he was still at it.

"Sorry, was I showing you something? Here I thought I was repeating boring drills with my shield."

"You were sure showing something _off_ , anyway." Anders licked his lips suggestively and this time Alistair's face grew redder, definitely blushing. All the way down his chest too, a lovely shade under sweat slick skin.

"You're going to put me off my training," the man whined, but then moved as asked, a heavy swing with his arm to bash his shield into the dummy with his full weight into the blow. The wooden pole holding the dummy creaked dangerously, clearly getting to its end after all the abuses it went through.

And it was a new one too. The Grey Wardens used dummies like a nobles would use expensive napkins: with no care whatsoever.

"I would hope so," Anders tittered playfully, shifting to drape himself over the wooden beam differently. "How am I supposed to seduce you if your full attention is on a dummy? It's a waste of all that impressive warden stamina too."

Alistair stopped abruptly, dropping his sword and closing the distance between them in two long strides. Anders startled, instinctively trying to back away, but to his chagrin Alistair caught hold of his collar first.

Suppressing the fear of having pushed too far, he offered a smirk, digging his heels into the dirt so he could bolt the moment the Templar - ex-Templar! - would loosen his grip.

"What are you doing? Why are you- are you propositioning me?"

"Absolutely not!" Anders gasped in mock outrage, covering up any fear a bit too thickly, but Templars usually fell for it anyway. "I would buy you a drink first!"

Alistair hesitated, seemingly stopping himself from saying something several times before finally drawing Anders closer by his collar, their breaths suddenly mingling.

It caused Anders a headrush of excitement and dread, his breath hitching helplessly.

"Skip the drink. Do you want it or not?"

"Why so direct, I took you for the more romantic type?" Anders chuckled nervously, no longer able to bluff. Alistair seemed to notice and his collar was released. Whether that was a threat in itself or not was another question.

"I-I am..." Alistair's eyes flickered away for a moment, but when Anders tried to follow his gaze there was nobody there. "I just... I never did this before and I'm done being teased for it. And you're uh, handsome enough."

"You want to use me to make you a man?" Anders gave a toothy grin and Alistair quickly leaned in to shush him. The warrior's nervousness about it made it easier for Anders, and he relaxed again.

"I am not! I'm no less a man for being a virgin, okay? Just because I never- did uhm... and you're a healer, are you not?"

Anders laughed openly this time, but Maker this man was adorable. He had fallen for the air of masculinity surrounding him wherever he went, but he was turning out to be so precious Anders almost felt bad for wanting a quick tumble of him.

"I am, and curing this dreadful disease called virginity with my magical cock is my speciality! Just come down to my room after you wash up and I'll show you a good time, Warden Alistair~"

"That's  not what I-" Alistair stuttered to a mortified halt when Anders turned and sauntered off, purposely swaying his hips like a curvy wench to entice Alistair's eyes down to his arse.

This would be an interesting evening. And maybe... maybe Anders wouldn't mind even if it would be more than one  evening too. The Warden who helped stop the Blight was turning out to be rather delightful, after all.

And Anders always had a soft spot for manly men with golden hearts.


	45. Warning for jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teens and up  
> Pairing: past F!Handers, pre Canders  
> Kinks: none  
> Warnings: Hawke is an arse

“How can you say that? Even though you’re a mage yourself?”

Gail laughed at his anger, brushing him aside easily. “Not all mages are dramaqueens like you, Anders, but neither are they as skilled as us. I’m just saying the Templars should keep their cattle better in hand. Those Circle mages are the ones that turn into abominations the moment you hurt their delicate sensibilities, not us. _They_  need containing.”

“They are _people_ , not cattle!”

She huffed dismissively. “They might as well be. But that’s not what I meant-”

“It’s what you _said_ , though.” Anders stepped forward threateningly, although he should know better. Gail’s eyes narrowed immediately and she held up one hand, halting him as surely as if she had slapped him.

“I don’t want to discuss this right now. I came to talk about Carver.”

“You can’t just-!”

“I can and I will. Be a good boy and stop throwing a fit, would you Anders? You’re such a child sometimes, no wonder Carver likes you.”

Anders was seeing red now. Red, with a distinct Fade blue at the edges. Gail seemed to be aware, by the way she pursed her lips, but she didn’t do anything about it. Possibly because she knew Anders wouldn’t attack her.

Because how could he? She was Gail Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, and the woman he’d been angrily pining after for years now.

He hated her. He loved her.

She was such an arse and she knew it. In fact, Anders was pretty certain she did it on purpose. Half her words were meant to wound, the other half was meant to seduce. Not even the people she loved deserved her kindness, even if they got her fierce protection.

Considering she brought up Carver just now, he had little doubt she was here to threaten him. He’d been talking to her little brother, even if the man was a Templar, even if they hadn’t gotten along before. He found himself having a growing understanding and admiration of the little Hawke, as he came to realise just why he’d joined the order.

So he’d spoken to him when he saw him, and after some awkward fumbling around, trying to find out whether he should be rude or nice, Carver had grabbed the opportunity with both hands. Anders had found the rudeness of the younger Hawke was nothing but a defense. No wonder of course, with Gail as an older sister.

And then he’d seen Carver again by accident, and that time they decided to meet again on a day off for the Templar.

That was last time.

Gail Hawke in his clinic was not a surprise.

“Say what you must and then leave me to work,” he finally managed to grit out between his teeth. He could argue with her for an eternity, but it would be entirely pointless. Even if she understood his point, she’d oppose him for the sake of it.

She was a lost cause, and even Justice had come to that understanding by now.

Justice currently saw her more like a demon than a human. Quietly Anders had to agree, even while he stuffed his hand down his smalls at night, panting her name to stale Darktown air and recalling that night they’d had. Over and over and over again.

“Good. So what have you been up to with my little brother lately? If you are trying to seduce him into your bed to get his help for that mage underground of yours, I’ll have to warn you off. He’s such a virgin he probably doesn’t even know to locate his dick.”

“Is that jealousy, Hawke?”

She scoffed, but that clearly got to her. Jelousy it was then.

“Just keep your filthy hands off him. You’re twice his age- no, I bet you could be his grandfather!”

“I could be.” He smirked, and she bristled. Perfect, he loved getting her worked up. He could hardly be Carver’s grandfather, but that was entirely beside the point.

“Why does it bother you what I do with your little brother anyway? _You_  rejected me. _You_  said I ‘wasn’t that good’. You regret turning me out on the street in the middle of the night now? Or are you afraid of the family dinners if Carver turns out to actually like me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffed, on the defense. “Carver doesn’t like you, he’s only being so nice because you’re one of mine. _Everyone_  is only being so nice because you’re one of mine. You honestly think people would voluntarily be civil with some dirty apostate smelling of sewage?”

“Oh, you’re laying the jealousy rather thickly there, Hawke. Might wanna tone it down if you don’t want me to use it against you.”

“Im _not_  jealous!”

She shot forward, sharply slapping him across the face. His head jerked back in surprise, but he was smirking at her even while he slowly moved back to stand normally, cheek burning and twitching around his smile.

He had her in his pocket now, it seemed.

“Gail Hawke is jealous of her baby brother. Andraste’s frilly knickers, I’m happy to have gotten to see this day. Glad to know you care after all.”

“Hurt him and I’ll tear your balls off by hand, you piece of filth.”

“Don’t worry, Hawke. _I’m_  not the one hurting him.”

She flinched as if he had returned the slap, looking stricken while she searched his face.

“I never hurt my brother! How dare you imply I hurt Carver!”

“Not physically,” Anders agreed amicably, “but your words are sharp as razors even while you’re being nice.” And he was the masochist who loved to cut himself, apparently. It would be so much easier if he could fall for Carver. It would be so much easier if Carver returned those feelings.

Forget about Gail Hawke and those dark full lips pulled into a sneer; Gail Hawke and her delicate hands on her rough, blood stained staff; Gail Hawke and her sharp wit and cutting tongue.

Carver was so much nicer.

If only it was that easy.

“I warned you. That’s all I came to do. Keep your dick in your pants around my brother.”

“Will do, Messere.” He gave her a mock salute while she already turned away to stalk off.

Anders counted it as a victory, even if that night he had his hand stuffed down his smalls, and he was panting Gail Hawke’s name and seeing strong warrior hands in his mind’s eye instead.


	46. Kisses and more kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teens and up  
> Pairing: Canders  
> Kinks: none  
> Warnings: none

Anders wasn’t quite sure how they got there. The only thing he was definitely sure of was Carver over him, soft sheets beneath him, and the hottest, tastiest mouth he’d ever gotten acquainted with collided firmly with his own.

Carver tasted like wine, but he smelled like lyrium and the stench of armour worn too much. He was clad in soft finery his mother had undoubtedly bought him, which was definitely an upside.

Not only because this way Anders could freely grope a butt so muscled it felt like steel itself, but also because now he wasn’t suffocating beneath a full armoured Templar. Because he had little doubt they’d be in the exact same position they were now, armour or not.

But Anders had been lucky, Carver clad in his finery after the party Leandra had dragged him off to. Anders had been told Carver would be staying the night at the mansion, so he’d gone up to the Templar’s guest room to wait for him.

To talk.

Of mage rights, and Templars overstepping their bounds. Of Meredith and her madness and maybe something about the Templar patrols and planned raids on apostates.

Perfectly reasonable reasons, all of them.

So how he got to be pressed down on Carver’s bed and was currently tasting a noble’s party on the tongue shoved into his mouth was a mystery. Strangely enough, Anders was quite content with the situation, and didn’t feel a particular need to find out how they got there. As long as it didn’t stop, really.

A thought he shouldn’t have voiced even in his head.

Carver drew back, panting, looking down at Anders uncertainly.

“I’m sorry, I just did that without asking but-” Anders practically growled, both hands grabbing hold of Carver’s hair and mussing up the carefully styled coiffe that was no doubt Leandra’s idea as well. He dragged Carver back down hard, and although moving a warrior built like Carver was normally as easy as making a statue budge, the Templar came down willingly this time.

At least for a few seconds, after which he broke the kiss again.

“-are you sure you-”

“Shut up,” Anders whispered while simultaneously arching himself up to capture those lips again, smudging out half his command with lips and tongue and blessed Carver.

It seemed this time Anders conveyed his thoughts on the matter well enough. Carver shifted to press down against Anders - all hard muscles and heavy limbs, like being caught under a crumbling wall and Anders wanted nothing more than die this sweet sweet death by Carver - pushing up on the bed properly so he could lay down as well.

Anders released the younger man’s hair for it, hands sliding down his back, tugging at his finery once before leaving it and exploring hard planes of muscle through the expensive velvet. Carver was huge and perfect, the kiss was clumsy and the best Anders ever had.

He whimpered needily into the kiss, face turning bright crimson when mortification struck at his own sound. Carver simply chuckled into his mouth though, pulling back until they were a mere breath apart, smirking most smugly. No doubt about to make some stupid remark.

No doubt about to be tit, like usual.

Anders growled once more and seized Carver’s lips again before he could talk.

Tonight was not a night for talking. Not after just discovering his new favourite treat.


	47. Come back to bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: All ages  
> Pairing: Fenders  
> Kinks: None  
> Warnings: None
> 
> Picture by [sparklingdwarf](http://sparklingdwarf.tumblr.com)

It wasn’t unusual for Anders to wake up in the middle of the night with a flash of inspiration for his manifesto. Justice hated idleness and it was hard enough to sleep as is, so with new ideas for his manifesto… well, it was a lost cause to even try stay in bed.

So he never did. If he woke up in the middle of the night - even if it was from a nightmare, to be honest - he would get up, wrap himself up in the warm threadbare blankets and shuffle over to his desk to write by the light of a single candle until he either fell asleep again, or patients arrived.

More than once this had resulted in Hawke scolding him on his sleeping habits, and if asked professionally, Anders would entirely agree. But…it wasn’t a habit he could break. Not with the injustice of the Circle still going on and mages likely being abused in the Gallows that very second, despite the hour of night. Because of the hour of night,

It just never happened before on a night he had stayed with Fenris for… reasons Justice couldn’t really argue, because he couldn’t really understand it. At least he had the decency to disapprove in silence on these occasions, and he would let Anders stay without troubling his mind with more thoughts of the injustices and the injured.

But Justice couldn’t keep him safe from the nightmares, and even Fenris couldn’t keep him safe from that particular brand of Darkspawn nightmares, so the night he’d bolt upright in the dilapidated mansion was bound to come. Sleep would refuse to come after that, so Anders had shuffled off with an abandoned sheet from the floor around him to find paper, ink and a quill.

He’d had half the mansion before he found a fairly intact desk with everything he needed. The quill was cracked dry, but if he wrote in large print it would be fine. The ink was mostly dried out, but that too was easily helped with a touch of magic. The paper was only moth eaten on the one edge.

“..the Templars only emphasize the injustices of racism against the elves with frequent raids on alienages. Wasn’t it Andraste who urged Shartan to fight for his freedom? Why are elves still cooped up in alienages, like slaves in their confinements waiting to be called up by their masters, where they can easily be raided for traces of magic? Elves are treated with no regard by the Templars, even less so than humans, beating information out of innocent bystanders for no other reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Raids to find hidden mages in alienages are particularly violent, as if Andraste taught us they were less-”

“Anders…” Anders froze at the sleepy voice behind him, his feverish muttering as he wrote stopping short. “Come back to bed…”

Anders felt his breath hitch, and for a moment his eyes burned. Like he was about to start crying, only he had no idea why he would. There was no good reason for getting emotional other than the fact that Fenris followed him to call him back to bed with him, as if that was where he belonged. As if Fenris required more from him than just sex, as if Fenris enjoyed to curl up against his side like he did or get suffocated by Anders’ sprawling limbs or-

“I-I’m coming,” he muttered shakily, tapping the ink off his quill and placing it carefully in its stand. He closed the ink jar only out of habit before pushing himself up from the rickety chair, finding his legs wobbly when he turned and saw the adorable sight his lover made, squinting at him through sleepy eyes and a pillow still clutched to his chest.

“Good.” Anders could almost fool himself into believing the answer was gruff, only he couldn’t when the elf was making that face at him.

“Did you miss me?” He teased, trying to keep his tone light when he came over and wrapped an arm around Fenris to lead him back to the bedroom, back to his bed.

“’f course,” came the faint answer, followed by a yawn. “Always miss my mage when he isn’t there…”

Anders could feel his heart soar and he grinned, leaning over to press a kiss to his lover’s hair.

“Right, of course. Sorry, Love.”

 


End file.
